Rising Waters
by Speakfire
Summary: Post Terminus, Beth was reunited with the rest of the group. She feels she's changed a lot and is ready to finish out that conversation with Daryl from the funeral home and see where things lead-but he's gone through some changes of his own. Bethyl AU following S4 Ending. Follow up to my story "Killer of Enemies", recommended you read that first.
1. Chapter 1

A/N Thank you for taking the time to check out my story! I strongly urge you to click on my name and read my other Walking Dead story called "Killer of Enemies" as this is a follow up to that Daryl-centric story and will make significant references to events that happened in it. TWD is not mine, I'm just playing in the sandbox. Thanks so much to PatienceTyme who exhibited vast amounts of both patience and time when it came to helping me with wording, phrasing and general awesome beta-reader ness type stuff.

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Beth likes the Manor House a lot more now than she did when they first arrived. The mansion is so well stocked with food, weapons and alcohol that they suspect that it was a base point for a raid group, but at some point, either they turned on each other or another group came through and wiped them out. The strange thing is that the victors did not take any of the supplies with them, just burned the bodies out back and left everything behind. Adding to the mystery is the fact that all the bed mattresses have been burned as well. The mansion has eight bedrooms, and no beds. They think the house has been empty for a month at least, so whoever did it has long since moved on.

Even though it's taken them more than a week to clean the blood and gore off of the walls and floors, the end result has been worth it. It's the most normal dwelling they've stayed in since they left the farm two years ago. The propane tank still has gas in it, so they can use the stove for cooking, though they have to light the burners manually. There's a deep well ground water pump by the carriage house as well, so they have a source of water even though the taps have long since stopped working. A few of the rooms have gas fireplaces, so there's a chance that they'll be warmer this winter than they were at the prison.

As settled in as they are getting, they're also prepared to leave at a moment's notice should the need arise. Rick, Carol, Michonne, Daryl, and Abraham, one of the new members of the group, have already worked out escape routes for people to take if they come under the attack, and they've got a specific meet-up place set as well, just in case they get scattered to the wind the way they did after the prison fell.

As for Beth herself, she's been quietly relegated back to being Judith's primary caretaker. And it's not that she doesn't adore the baby, not at all! It's just, well, she wants to do more to help. She's always repeated her father's phrase, "Everyone's got a job to do." But now, she realizes that it doesn't mean that everyone has to do just the one job, and nothing else. The time she spent Daryl fleeing the prison showed her that all that protective molly-coddling she's taken for granted her whole life is dangerous now, not just for her, but for anyone she's with.

Daryl. She can't think of him without feeling confused, excited, and nervous all at the same time, and she's pretty sure that's about as strange a combination of emotions a body could possibly feel. Beth is hyper aware of him in a way she never was before, and any time they're in the room at the same time, she catches herself watching him. There's been a few times when it seems his gaze is shifting away from her right when she looks at him, but she can't help wondering if that's just wishful thinking on her part.

For about the thousandth time, she thinks back to that moment in the funeral home, where she'd kept pushing him about his change of mind when it came to believing that there were still some good people out there, how he wouldn't give her a straight look or answer and she's on the verge of making him tell her—as if anyone could make Daryl Dixon do anything he didn't want to—when he gives that long steady look and he's not a man who wears his heart on his sleeves but in that very moment, it's in his eyes. For the first time in her life, she's speechless because "Oh..." is the best she can manage. The world didn't shift its axis, but she thinks it definitely wobbled a little.

Weeks have passed since then and she isn't any closer to figuring out what it means in the long term now than she was then, and she knows the only she's going to work her way through it is by talking to Daryl, which is easier said than done. They haven't exchanged more than a couple of words since the fierce hug they shared upon their reunion, but things have been so hectic since their flight from Terminus. In between trying to guard against a retaliatory strike from the cannibalistic group and trying to find a place to hole up to better tend to Maggie's gunshot wound to the arm and Eugene's broken leg, it's not like they've had many opportunities to talk. Finally she just reaches a point where she decides she's going to talk to him as soon as he gets back from hunting that day, even if it means she has to grab him by the arm and drag him off to the side.

Naturally, he doesn't come that day, or the one after that either. She reminds herself that he's been gone on runs and hunting trips that have lasted well over a week when they were at the prison, but ever since Terminus, everyone's been sticking pretty close together, and she can't help worrying because he's so much more to her now than he was then.

Beth is helping Glenn change Maggie's bandage when Rick pops his head in and tells them that Daryl's back. He's been gone three days, but to her relief it sounds like it was by choice, and not because anything bad happened. Michonne passes by when she peeks in his room a little later and tells her, "He's not there, he said something about it being too loud in here, so he's moving to the carriage house. Not sure even his skinny ass will have room to lay down in there, though."

The carriage house is downright modest compared to the extravagance that is the Manor House. It's just a simple brick three-car garage with a one-bedroom apartment built over it. The only reason no one's bothered to move in there until now is that whoever had owned the house before the outbreak converted the small living space into a glorified storage shed. There are boxes of vinyl records, dishes, knick-knacks, clunky scrap metal sculptures, old signs, crates, paperback books, clothes and so much more junk that Rick had all but decreed the building be left alone while they focused on cleaning up the Manor House, since that was going to be the group's living space for the foreseeable future.

The air is thick with musty smell of paper, metal and old clothes. Beth climbs up the stairwell, her boots making solid thunks of sound on the wooden steps. There's a door at the top of the stairs and she raps on it with her knuckles. "Daryl? It's me, Beth. Michonne said you were in here..." There's no answer. "Daryl? Are you in there?" After waiting a moment, she turns the knob and opens the door, peeking in.

The cluttered outbuilding looks pretty much the same as it did the last time she was up here. The door catches on something when she starts to take a step into the room, and she glances down and gives a startled squeak. Daryl's sitting on the floor just to the right of the doorway, with his back propped against the wall, one arm loosely hooked around his raised knee. He's moved just enough boxes out of the way to lay out his sleeping bag on the hardwood floor, and his crossbow and the rest of his gear are within arms reach.

Anything she'd planned on saying goes right out the window, and it takes her a moment to find her voice. "Hey." He doesn't say anything, or even look at her, and it feels weird to be standing over him so she sits down as well, perpendicular to him and resting her back against the open door. "I didn't expect you to be gone for so long. I was starting to get a little worried," she tells him and then nibbles her lower lip. That came out sounding way more awkward and clingy than she had intended.

He shoots her a quick, unreadable glance from behind shaggy bangs and mutters, "Ain't gotta worry 'bout me."

Beth stretches out one of her legs and gives his boot a playful nudge, "I'm just saying when I told you you'd be the last man standing, it didn't mean you get to go out there and try and prove me wrong." She thinks he may have given her another look, but she can't really tell because his head is lowered and his long hair is blocking her view of his face. "Your hair is too long. If it gets any longer, you're going to look like Chewbacca, bowcaster and all."

"First ya worryin' bout me not comin' back from a run, an' now ya sayin' I need a hair cut?" he squints at her.

The two are rather incongruous, but she grins, pointing out, "Well, maybe the reason you don't make it back is that your hair is so long, you don't see the walkers sneaking up on you until it's too late." She's inordinately pleased with herself when he snorts in amusement, and offers, "I could cut it for you, if you like. I cut Glenn and Maggie's hair and it looks all right, doesn't it?"

He shrugs, working his hand and for the first time she notices that he's holding something.

"What's that?"

Daryl hesitates for a fraction of a second before he opens his palm, revealing the blue-green stone there. It's a small chunk of turquoise, polished on one side and rough on the other, like it's been broken off of another piece. For some reason, it makes her think of those heart pendants that are split to form two separate necklaces. Best friends forever. Two souls, one heart. She swallows down the lump that's suddenly stuck in her throat and keeps her tone light and cheerful, "It's beautiful. Did Carol give you that?"

He seems surprised by the question and shakes his head, and she shouldn't be as relieved as she is. She waits for him to elaborate, and when he doesn't say anything more, she nudges him again with her foot. "Well? Where'd you get it then? Found it while out hunting?"

Rolling it between his fingers, he finally says, "Ran into some... good people."

Her eyebrows raise and she can't stop the smile that appears on her face at his careful wording. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Was just three of 'em, an old man, his grandson was bout Carl's age, and a little girl that twern't but six or so."

"You stayed with them? That's why you stayed out longer than usual?"

He gives a single brief nod, leaning back a little further and resting his head against the wall behind him. "They was Injuns—but... ya know, feathers." He wiggles his fingers. "Not dots. Apaches. Even had a damn teepee, can ya believe that shit?"

Beth stifles a giggle at his description. "It does sound pretty unbelievable. Are you sure you didn't find another moonshine still?" she teases.

Now he's the one to give her foot a shove, and she bursts out laughing. When her giggles subside, Daryl gives her a sidelong glance and then looks down at the rock, tossing it from one hand to the other. "The old one was a Medicine Man, did this whole Injun ceremony. Cured me, so I can't get infected no more."

And he's so serious about it that she has to bite back a smile, schooling her features to mild interest. "Is that right? So you're cured now? Well, lucky you."

"Yep. Lucky damn me."

A brief but comfortable silence ensues, and she gestures at the turquoise stone. "So...? Where'd the stone come from then, was it some sort of souvenir from your 'ceremony'?" She throws in air quotes for emphasis.

"Th' girl gave it ta me. Apache believe that turquoise is good luck cause it gives 'em a protective shield ta help 'em against their enemies." He holds the blue-green stone up between two fingers to inspect one last time and then tosses it at her.

She instinctively catches the rock in her hands, protesting, "I can't take this, she gave it to you, not to me."

"Yeah, well, I don't think she'd mind, she'd probably a' liked ya more than me anyways if she'd met ya. Anyhow, I figure you'll be needin' it more'n me, seein's how I'm cured and all," he says with dry humor.

Beth snorts at his cure comment, but can't help feeling a surge of emotion for this complicated man. Rubbing her thumb over the rough face of the turquoise and thinks Daryl's the same way, he's got this rough, abrasive side of him too. But his other side, well, it's not smooth and polished as the stone by any means, but it doesn't make him any less attractive or appealing. He probably doesn't intend for the gift to mean as much to her as it does, but it's from him and has symbolism attached as well, so when she wraps her hand around it and tells him, "Thank you," her voice is thick with emotion.

He shrugs and won't quite look at her, mumbling, "It's just a rock."

"No, it's not," she shakes her head, a soft smile curving her lips. After examining the small chunk of turquoise again, she thinks out loud, "Maybe I can find a strip of leather or something, and make a necklace out of it? I mean, you know, in order for the turquoise to protect me, I need to keep it close all the time. I don't want to risk it falling out of my pocket or anything like that."

Daryl studies her for a moment, like he's trying to figure out whether or not she's serious, and then reaches for his pack. After rooting around in it for a few minutes, he pulls out a long strip of leather cord, using his knife to cut it to a reasonable length. She gives the stone back to him when he gestures for it and watches him, asking, "So what happened to them, the Indians? Did you ask if they wanted to join us?"

"Naw, they was just passin' through on their way ta New York, said they was gonna see a friend up that aways," he replies, his fingers nimbly wrapping the leather around the turquoise in a crisscross pattern that will keep it secure.

"New York," she repeats, incredulous. "You really think they'll make it that far?"

He tilts his head, considering the question. "Yeah, actually, I think they will. 'Sides, I don't think they'd have joined us, not with us livin' here, anyways. They knew them that lived here before we did, and they were..." he pauses, his jaw tightening, "not good people. Movin' in, even with 'em gone, I think it'da been bad medicine."

Beth nods and from his taut expression, she can tell that whoever lived in the Manor House before they moved in were as bad as the people from Terminus and the Governor, if not worse. She doesn't want to know what worse would be. She looks around the cluttered room and puts two and two together. "Is that why you don't want to stay in the house anymore?"

"Th' blood's gone, but nothin's gonna erase what they done." He shakes his head and gives the newly formed pendant necklace a tug, testing its strength.

Daryl holds it out for her but she can tell that the cord will be too short to fit over her head when tied. She scoots closer and holds up her thick hair up with her hands, turning her back to him. "Can you help me with it? I won't be able to tie it and keep my hair out of the way at the same time."

She waits, and when he hasn't moved after a couple of moments, she glances back over her shoulder at him. He's just looking at her. "Daryl?"

Her voice seems to bring him out of his reverie because he shifts toward her. When he slips the necklace around her, his wrists brush her shoulders and he is being so careful that she can't even hear him breathing, even though his head is right behind her. The tension in the air is unexpected and a bit awkward, so she tries to ease it by saying lightly, "I'm not sure how much of a workout this stone is going to get protection wise. Maggie hardly lets me get ten feet away from her before she starts worrying. Quite a change from before Terminus, when she didn't even seem to care enough about me to put my name on the signs with Glenn's." The lingering bitterness from that still leaves a sour taste in her mouth, and she sighs. "That sounds ungrateful, doesn't it? I'm glad to be here, glad to have a safe haven, for however long it lasts, and I really do hope it lasts a good long while. But at the same time, I don't know...I mean, running for our lives from walkers aside, at least when I was out there with you, I felt like I was doing something useful and important, learning survival skills and the like. Seems like we've all gotten to a point where stuff like that could make a difference, especially if we ever get separated from each other."

He seems to be fumbling a bit with getting the necklace tied, but she doesn't mind. "Takin' care of Lil Asskicker's important, ain't it?" he finally says.

"Of course it is, I love her to pieces!" Beth responds and then grimaces, "I'm just saying, my babysitting skills didn't do anyone a whole lot of good when we were running for our lives. I've tried talking to her about maybe helping out a little more with guard duty or going on runs, but she isn't having any of it."

Daryl tugs at the knot to tighten it. "Aintcha eighteen now? Seems like ya gettin' past the point where ya need ta be askin' permission ta do what ya want."

Sensing he's done, Beth lets her hair down and drops her hands to her knees. "Yeah, well, it doesn't matter how old I am, I'll always be Maggie Greene's baby sister, and in case you haven't noticed, she can be pretty bossy and stubborn." Her blond hair shifts ever so slightly on her neck but she figures it's just gravity settling it into place because Daryl Dixon does not seem like the type of man to run his fingers through someone's hair.

He pulls away from her and his voice is gruff when he tells her, "Reckon I remember ya bein' pretty bossy and stubborn your own self when ya put yer mind to it, or does that only count when ya want some booze?"

Beth blushes, remembering how obnoxiously insistent she'd been about getting a drink, especially when for a while there it'd been pretty touch and go on whether they'd survive at all. "It won't just be Maggie I have to convince though, you know. You think Rick, Glenn and the others are more likely to listen to me saying I want to go out and help with runs, or to Maggie who'll tell them it's too dangerous and unnecessary when there are more experienced people to go, and that I'm better off just staying here where I'm doing some good?" She heaves a sigh and turns toward him, checking to make sure the turquoise pendant is centered around her neck. "Enough on that. How does it look?"

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't say anything, just ducks his head and shrugs.

"Ouch, that bad?" she teases.

Daryl's blue eyes are intent when he shifts his gaze to the necklace and then up to meet hers. "Looks like it was made for ya."

Her cheeks feel like they're on fire but her smile is so big it almost hurts. Beth shifts toward him, getting up on her knees before she kisses him on the cheek and wraps her arms around him in a hug. "Thank you."

He holds perfectly still in her embrace, his muscles bunched and tense, but after a moment, gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder, like he doesn't know what else he's supposed to be doing.

"Beth? Bethy?" Maggie calls.

She gives Daryl a last squeeze before pulling away and making a face, "She's probably about to send out a search party." Beth gets to her feet and hollers back, "I'll be down in a second."

Standing as well, he watches her from behind his hair again as she tucks the turquoise pendant into her sweater and out of sight. The gift is too new and personal for her to want to share with anyone just yet, even her sister. Then she gives Daryl a stern look before telling him, "Don't forget what I said about the haircut. It could save your life," and heads down the stairs.

Maggie's eyebrows are drawn together in a worried frown as she watches her sister descend. "Michonne told me you were out here. What were you doing up there? Judith is pitching a fit, and Carl can't get her calmed down."

Beth resists the urge to roll her eyes, "I was chatting with Daryl."

"Chatting with Daryl?" Maggie echoes, giving her an odd look as they walk out one of the open garage bays and into the courtyard. "What could you two possibly have to chat about?"

Ignoring the question, Beth asks, "So what's up with Judith? Did Carl check her diaper? She's been grumpy recently because she's teething, that's probably why she's crying. Man, what I wouldn't give for some Orajel, that'd probably help a lot."

Maggie glances back over her shoulder toward the carriage house, and she does as well, smiling when she sees Daryl is following them toward the big house at a much slower pace, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. "Beth..."

"Mmhmm?" she responds and it takes a conscious effort to keep her fingers away from the unfamiliar weight of the necklace.

Her sister plucks at her sling-wrapped arm and sighs, "Look, Daryl is a good man. Hell, he's done more for the people in this group than anyone else, up to and including Rick and Glenn. But I can't help noticing how you've been looking at him these past few weeks. I know the pickings are kind of slim when it comes to men around here, so it's hard not to get attached to anyone or turn off your feelings completely, but, come on, don't you think you'd be better off waiting a bit, seeing if someone closer to your age joins the group?"

Beth knows that Maggie is just trying to protect her, but she can't help feeling both hurt and resentful. Crossing her arms over her chest, she takes a page from Daryl Dixon: She says nothing.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt, is all," Maggie quietly tells her.

Stiffening, Beth drops her arms to her arms to the sides and looks at her sister like she's crazy. "You don't want me to get hurt? Maggie, we're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse! Most of the people we've ever known are either dead, or are walkers. Our mother and brother rose from the dead, and were shot to death in front of us. Our father was beheaded by a psychopath, we lost the closest thing to a home we've had in a battle against a freaking tank, and when we all scattered to the wind, you, Maggie, you didn't even care enough about me or believe enough in me to give me or anyone else a token mention in all those signs you posted up and down the railroad tracks because you were too busy searching for Glenn! I was hit by a car and kidnapped, and you almost got eaten by cannibals and shot in the arm!" The longer she talks, the madder she gets, and by the time she's reached the end of her tirade, she's yelling. "And you're worried about me getting hurt by Daryl? Are you kidding me?"

Disgusted, she stalks toward the Manor House and leaves a stunned Maggie behind.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N A special shout out to PatienceTyme, my beta reader. Her input has been invaluable, especially in regards to helping me with characterizations and wording. Also, thanks to all the people who reviewed under guest accounts for all the encouraging words and thoughts. I try to reply to every single review with a PM, but that's hard to do when you review as a guest!

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Beth is not one to hold a grudge or nurse her anger, so things go back to normal between Maggie and herself in a matter of hours. If anything, she's irritated at herself for going off on her sister, not because she regrets anything she said but because the tirade took place within sight and hearing distance of Daryl, just when things seemed to be getting normal between them. Well, 'normal' isn't really the right word, perhaps 'comfortable' is a better fit. Things weren't as awkward, at least.

After her rant, she can't help worrying about what his reaction will be, because it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Daryl Dixon doesn't like having attention drawn to him. It's almost humorous, as he tends to do things that get people's attention, like save their lives and bring them food and other necessities.

He doesn't show up at supper that night, but he's at lunch the following day and he isn't avoiding eye contact with her—well, more so than usual—much to her relief. The meals are served buffet style and so everyone takes their portions and then grabs a seat wherever the mood takes them to eat. As she feeds Judith the remaining mashed bits of food off of her own plate, her gaze drifts to where Daryl is quietly talking with Rick. Judith babbles at her, drooling and cramming some crushed carrots into her mouth, and as Beth tries to get the little girl to take a bit more food, part of her conversation with Daryl from yesterday is sticking with her. After making sure Judith has eaten all she's going to, she passes the baby off to Carl and walks over to them.

She gives Daryl a warm smile before addressing Rick, "Have you got a minute?"

The former lawman's blue eyes dart over Carl is playing with his baby sister on the floor. "Is something wrong with Judith?"

"Oh no, she's fine, outside the teething thing," Beth hastily reassures him. "Wish we could chill her teething rings in ice water is all, but I guess that won't happen until the temperature drops some more." She shouldn't be nervous about this, but she is and finds herself rubbing the turquoise pendant through her sweater. For whatever reason, the gesture seems to strengthen her resolve and she squares her shoulders and states, "I want to start going on runs."

Daryl shifts from one foot to the other at her announcement, glancing from Beth to Rick to gauge his reaction but he doesn't say anything.

Pursing his lips, Rick kicks at the floor with his boot and asks, "Have you talked to Maggie about this?"

She grimaces, "Yes, for all the good that did, which is why I'm talking to you. I want to help the group and I need the experience. And before you say it, I know I'm helping by taking care of Judith, but I want to do more than just that. I _can_ do more than just that, if you'll just let me."

"Runs can get kind of dicey," Rick says, exhaling slowly. "You don't need to feel pressured to chip in and help if you really don't want to, we got plenty of able bodied people that can go out if need be, so there's no sense in you putting yourself in danger…"

Fighting off rising frustration, Beth shakes her head, interrupting, "I'm not feeling pressured to do anything, I want to go on runs because I need the experience, I need to learn what works and what doesn't and how to stay safe when I'm out there and how to keep the people with me safe, and that's stuff I can't learn here babysitting, cooking supper and doing laundry." A long sigh escapes her, and she gives Rick a half-hearted smile, "Think of it as my way of hoping for the best, but trying to be prepared for the worst."

Rick studies her face as though he's searching for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty, and then directs his question at the man beside him. "Daryl, what do you think?"

Beth finds herself holding her breath, knowing that what he says will determine how Rick's decision plays out. Daryl doesn't talk much and when he does, it's usually because he's got something to say that's worth listening to. She's never known Rick not to take his advice.

"She held 'er own when the prison fell, right up 'til she got run down in the street," Daryl's expression darkens and his gaze shifts to where Father Gabriel is talking with Tyreese. "Hell, she's older 'an Carl, and how many runs has he been on? She wants ta go, let 'er go."

That's a glowing review coming from this particular man, and Beth is hard pressed not to beam at him.

Rick only nods once and says, "Well, right now we're practically sitting on the mother lode when it comes to supplies, so there's not much need to be going out on runs just yet. But I'll tell you what, give me a week and I'll take you out myself. That way we'll have a better idea of what we might need to get us through this winter, and it'll give Maggie some time to adjust to the idea. How's that sound?"

To be honest, it's more than she expected. "That sounds great!" Impulsively, she gives him a hug, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Daryl is watching, and his expression is one of vague displeasure, like he's got a sour taste in his mouth, so she releases Rick to hug him as well. He's as tense as ever, but he seems to relax ever so slightly in her embrace and she thinks to herself, _Practice makes perfect_, before drawing back from him.

"Let me be the one to break the news to Maggie, I got a feeling it'll come easier hearing it from me than it will you," Rick says with a knowing smile, and ambles over to where Maggie and Glenn are sitting together.

Beth has no desire to watch that conversation unfold and turns her back to them, telling Daryl, "I want you to teach me more about tracking, too. I feel like I was just starting to get the hang of it when we got separated."

He nods, but not before darting another glare at the priest.

Following his gaze, Beth reminds him, "It was an accident, you know that." She's already explained to everyone what had happened when she and Daryl got separated, that she'd been so focused on looking behind her for him that she didn't even see the car until it ran into her and knocked her down, the back of her head smacking hard against the pavement. Things were a bit blurry after that, she vaguely remembered being put into the car by the driver and hearing Daryl desperately calling her name as they drove away.

When she'd come to, she had a knot the size of an egg on her head and all the symptoms of a significant concussion including nausea and blurred vision, so it'd taken her a while to convince Father Gabriel Stokes that she wasn't delirious when she kept insisting that he take her back to the funeral home to find Daryl. By the time they returned, the walkers were gone, but so was he. They determined that he must have taken the other fork in the road by the railroad tracks and were following it when they ran into Tyreese, Carol and Judith and then the others fleeing from Terminus a few days after that. Daryl's been hostile toward Gabriel from the moment they met, and it doesn't seem to be dissipating with time gauging from how he glowers at the priest whenever they're in the same room.

"Don't matter. Bastard ran ya down in the street, and then took ya from..." he draws himself up short and looks away from her with his jaw clenched. Swallowing down his anger, he mutters, "He took ya. Ain't right. Ain't gonna be right."

She blinks at him, realizing for the first time that the grudge he's holding against Father Gabriel is a deeply personal one, and it's because of her. He won't look at her and she's at a momentary loss for words, feeling rather like she did when she was sitting across from the table in the funeral home. "Remember, there's still good people in the world."

"Yeah, but that don't make him one of 'em," Daryl grunts, walking away from her toward the front door.

Following after him, she inquires, "So? Are you going to teach me some more about tracking?"

He doesn't answer at first, just steps out onto the porch and adjusts his crossbow on his shoulders. "Ya sure ya wanna do that?" he finally asks. "Maybe yer sister's right, and ya ain't safe with me."

Beth snickers at that ridiculous notion and it takes her a moment to realize that he is serious. "For real? You're the one who helped me get out of the prison alive, and kept me that way for weeks when it was just the two of us, even when I was acting like a dumb college bitch. I don't know if anyone else could have done that, not even Rick. Of course I'm safe with you." It occurs to her that he's interpreted the conversation with Maggie wrong, because her sister didn't mean she was in physical danger when she was with him, but she doesn't want things any more awkward than they already are, so she decides against mentioning it.

"Didn't keep ya from gettin' hurt though, when ya was with me." He chews on the inside of his cheek and says in a low voice, "I shoulda kept ya with me, instead of makin' ya leave."

She knows he's referring to what happened at the funeral home, when the walkers had come in the front door and he'd yelled for her to leave him behind. "You're right. You should have. But it wasn't your fault that I ran in front of a car, any more than it was your fault that I didn't look where I was going and stepped into a steel trap. You may as well blame yourself for the time I tripped over a root and smacked into a tree, or stubbed my toe on a chair. No one can protect me from myself," she says ruefully, toying with her necklace through her sweater again.

Daryl's jaw tightens. "Ya ain't gotta wear that on account 'a me, ya know."

"What?"

Gesturing at her with his chin before turning away, he repeats, "Ya ain't gotta wear that cause 'a me. I seen how ya been hidin' it under ya shirt, and ya don't have ta. Like I said, 's just a rock."

Beth just stares at him, clenching her fingers around the pendant. "You think I keep it under my shirt because I'm trying to hide it? Like I'm embarrassed or ashamed or something?"

He won't even look at her, and that alone tells her his answer.

"Daryl, it's not just a rock," she insists, grabbing at his tensed forearm and pulling at until he looks at her—or at least at where her hand is touching him. She doesn't let go, just squeezes his arm and says again, "It's not just a rock, it's beautiful. Remember, I was the one who suggested making it into a necklace in the first place. And as for why I keep it under my shirt...it's hard to explain. It's not just a plain old rock, it has meaning. With how you said the Apache believe it helps protect them, it's like it's got this whole story behind it, you know? I dunno, I kind of feel like when it's touching my skin I feel a little safer. A little braver," she admits.

Some of the tension drains out of Daryl at her explanation and he shifts from one foot to the other. "I reckon it's workin' like it's 'sposed ta, then," he allows.

Beth debates whether or not to go on, a dark blush tinting her cheeks. Now she's the one who can't quite look at him, and she clears throat before confessing, "It's not just that though. I guess I kind of have been keeping it hidden, not because I was ashamed to show it to anyone," she hastily reassures him, "but because it was from you. I guess I just wanted to keep it all to myself, because it meant a lot to me that it was from you. That's what makes it even more special. I know, it sounds stupid, but...yeah. There it is." Her hand is still resting on his arm and she pulls it away, raising it to play with the necklace again without even thinking about it. When she realizes what she's doing, she laughs and then crosses her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits where they will stay out of trouble.

He gives her that intent stare he sometimes does, the one that means he's thinking and has something important he wants to say, but can't quite figure out how to put it into words.

A voice breaks in, interrupting the mood. "Dixon, you still taking over perimeter watch?" Abraham asks as he walks around the side of the house, shouldering his assault rifle. "Hey Beth. Hope there's plenty left to eat, I'm as hungry as a horse."

Dragging her attention away from Daryl, she nods at the big red-headed man. "Plenty left, last I saw, anyway. Carl's still in there though, so I wouldn't press my luck." The boy is at that stage where he could eat so much in one sitting, it seems like he has a hollow leg or something.

"Yeah, I got it." Daryl steps off of the porch and unslings his crossbow to hold it loosely in his hands. Then he throws over his shoulder at Beth, "Leavin' at daylight. I ain't waitin' up if ya oversleep."

"Yes sir," she tosses off a cocky salute, and grins at his brief snort of amusement before she follows Abraham inside.

She had thought she would spend the day learning about tracking. Instead Daryl focuses on teaching her the basics of snares and trapping. They aren't constantly on the move the way they had been when the prison fell, they have a base camp to work their way out of, so he thinks it's just as important as showing her how to track and hunt.

He shows her how to tell the difference between a deer trail and small game runs, how and where to set the snares, explains why wire is better than string when setting a trap. It's very easy to see the advantage of snares over hunting, as snares allow them to be in several places at once, but at the same time, when they're providing food for a group the size of theirs, there is also a greater risk of overhunting which is why Daryl goes hunting so often. One average sized deer can give fifty pounds of meat easy, where it'd take twenty rabbits or more than fifty squirrels to achieve the same amount of food.

Daryl is a good teacher, though he dismisses her attempts to tell him that. He's surprisingly patient and challenges her to figure stuff out on her own. After checking and resetting the snares, they range out further and he tests what she remembers about his prior tracking lessons. The day flies by, and by the time they return that afternoon, they've caught two rabbits and four squirrels, all but one of those with snares.

She spends the next day taking care of Judith, which is just as well because the day is a cold and rainy one. The downside is she has to listen to Maggie's repeated assurances that she does not have to go on runs if she doesn't want to, and if she is bound and determined to do so, to at least wait until her arm is fully healed. She has a sneaking suspicion that if Maggie has it her way, a run with her and Glenn would involve Beth sitting in the car to keep her out of harm's way.

Beth and Daryl establish a routine over the following days, where she alternates between taking care of Judith and helping out around the Manor House, and her tracking lessons. When it had just been the two of them on their own, he'd taken the lead on almost all of the tracking, showing her what markers and signs he was looking at. It was only right before they found the funeral home that he started making her find the tracks on her own, giving gentle corrections when she made mistakes. She quickly learns that there is a marked difference between following the heavy dragging tracks of a walker and the hopping shuffle of a rabbit.

Daryl is not a talkative man by any means, but as they come across particular tracks, he shares details about the animals that she never might have known otherwise. She learns that eastern cottontail rabbits don't like deep woods because they prefer to graze in open fields and pastures, so when hunting and trapping them, it's always best to keep to the edge of the woods. When they startle an opossum that promptly falls over and plays dead, he tells her that the defensive reaction is really something they can't control, almost like fainting. She'd always thought of 'possums as nocturnal creatures, but according to Daryl as the weather gets colder, they come out more and more during the day to forage. The reason he's never brought home an armadillo when out hunting is because despite the fact that they are slow and easy to catch and kill, they're also the only animal other than humans that carry leprosy, so he considers them a 'last resort' meal.

It's hard to get excited about the 'possum they bring back on their second outing. The turkey hen she bags on their third expedition feels like a real accomplishment though, because she took the lead on the tracking for most of the hunt. The fact that the ground was wet which made the flock easy to follow didn't make the victory any less sweet.

Day four of the tracking lessons has them walking a lot further they have been, heading for a deer stand that Daryl came across when scouting a couple of weeks ago. They left a good hour before dawn, far earlier than usual and have already walked a few miles by her estimation. If they actually do manage to get a deer, they'll have to carry the carcass all the way back. She'd asked earlier why they didn't just drive one of the vehicles close to the hunt site, and Daryl pointed out that it's hard to learn anything about tracking from the comfort of a pickup truck, so walking it is.

Tomorrow, Beth is supposed to go on the run with Rick, and it's hard not to think about it as she follows Daryl through the woods. He hasn't said much today, other than to point out the occasional animal tracks that cross their path as they head further south.

"Ya nervous?" he asks, ducking his head to avoid a low hanging branch.

Knowing he's referring to going on the run, she admits, "A little, yeah. I just don't want to screw up." It's not that she's worrying about herself, but she's aware that if she makes a serious mistake, she could also put Rick's life in danger as well.

Daryl glances back at her, "Ya already proved ya can handle yerself, just watch yer back 'n keep yer eyes open."

His confidence in her bolsters her own. She smiles at the back of his head, "I will."

They walk in silence for a few more minutes and then he says, "I could come along, if ya wanted."

Touched by his offer, she can't help the surge of emotion she feels for this complicated man. When she finds her voice, she opts for teasing him, feeling anything else she says might come across as sappy. "Are you going to make sure I stay out of trouble by making me wait in the car?"

"Makin' ya wait? Hell, I'm gonna handcuff ya to the door," he tosses back over his shoulder.

Beth giggles. "Not that I don't want you coming along, but Rick already turned Glenn down when he asked if he could join us. I think he saw through Maggie's thinly veiled efforts to baby me from long distance."

"Wasn't askin' Rick, was askin' you," he says matter-of-factly.

Beth finds herself taken aback because he's managed to make it sound like her opinion matters to him more than Rick's. Shaking her head a little to dispel that unlikely notion, she responds, "Of course I want you to come along. I mean, you know, if you don't have something else you were going to do, that is."

"Nothin' that can't wait."

There's an open area through the trees ahead, and Beth can just make out the grey line of an asphalt road. She follows him out of the tree line and down the slope to stand on the road. There's a grey SUV on it's side in the shallow ditch about a hundred feet to the right, and a sedan with a crushed front end just behind it. Both vehicles have their doors thrown open, and the sedan's trunk is popped open. Two walkers are crouched over the bodies on the ground, and there's at least one more corpse in the car.

"Hey, hold up," Daryl quietly warns, bringing his crossbow up. "None of this was here before."

She doesn't ask if he's sure or if maybe they came out of the woods at a different section of road than he had before. Daryl Dixon's sense of direction is so good, it's uncanny. She draws her gun, holding it at the ready.

"Stay behind me," he orders and makes his way over to the vehicles to get a closer look, while she cautiously follows. They're a short distance away when one of the walkers catches their scent and lurches to its feet, stumbling at them. Daryl shoots it down and draws his knife, quickly closing on the second and killing it as well with a quick stab through the eye socket. After retrieving his arrow and cleaning the knife, he rearms his crossbow and presses on.

The three men on the ground have been well picked over by the walkers, but luckily there don't seem to be any more in the vicinity right now that she can see. Daryl glances at the corpses on the ground and uses his crossbow to gesture at their heads, pointing out the bullet holes in what's left of their skulls. The bodies are close together, like they were lined up before being shot. These people weren't killed in the wreck or by the dead, they were executed by the living. The driver of the sedan is slumped into the deflated airbag on the steering wheel and she can see the bloody hole in his head, too.

Beth can hear faint snarling now as Daryl leads her around the front of the capsized SUV. There's a walker still buckled in the front passenger seat, a older woman with long flyaway gray hair who is now scrabbling and clawing to get at them through the broken windshield. One of her arms flails more than the other, the shattered forearm bones poking grotesquely through the discolored skin. She has no other injuries that they can see, and is dispatched with an arrow.

The area around the wrecked vehicles is strewn with what is left of their belongings. Daryl lowers his crossbow and looks back at her, giving her the okay to holster her Glock. Together, they start to sift through what's left of the travelers' things without a lot of success. It looks like whoever killed them has already picked through and taken anything useful.

Beth does find two comic books and a graphic novel on the floorboard of the sedan. She picks those up and heads around to the back of the car to look in the trunk. A grim-faced Daryl has finished searching the SUV and is standing on the road again, examining the skid marks left by the accident.

"Found Carl some more comics," she calls, and indeed, there's a small collection of them in the trunk of the car. It's a miracle they're all dry, but whoever owned them kept them in protective covers and in a large ziplock bag on top of that. The only other thing in the trunk is loose clothing, but none of it catches her eye.

She's just started stuffing the comics into her pack when Daryl whips around, raising his crossbow to his shoulder and pointing it down the road. "Get under the car," he orders.

"What?" Beth is sure she misheard him.

"Get under th' damn car!" he hisses out of the side of his mouth and this time she doesn't question him. Snatching up her pack, she drops to the ground and pushes the satchel ahead of her as she shimmies up underneath the car, trying to keep her face out of the cold mud that's collected there from the recent rains. Then she waits, keeping as still and quiet as possible.

Now she can hear a vehicle approaching. It stops a short distance away, the low rumble of the engine seems to indicate that it's a large truck or possibly another SUV. Doors open, four of them, which tells her that there are at least four people confronting Daryl. Boot steps scuff across the pavement, accompanied by the clatter of metal that she recognizes as weapons being drawn or raised. She can't see anything from her narrow vantage point under the car. It's both terrifying and frustrating, reminding her of that dark rainy night she spent in a car trunk while growling zombies shuffled past.

"Nice crossbow," a man comments.

"Fuck off," Daryl snarls.

The same guy says placatingly, "Easy now, just making friendly conversation."

There's a pause, and Daryl demands, "Izzat what this is? A friendly conversation? Cause yer boys ain't lookin' all that friendly ta me." Beth cringes at his antagonistic tone, is he trying to provoke them? But then it occurs to her that he doesn't sound afraid or intimidated, only pissed off, and it might be enough to make these men think twice about attacking him.

"Fair enough. Put 'em down, boys," the de facto leader orders, and after a moment, that metallic rattle seems to indicate that compliance. "There, happy now? By the way, don't waste your time looking through this garbage, my men and I were pretty thorough."

Another brief silence ensues before Daryl asks, "This yer doin'?"

A couple of the men snicker and she can hear the smug tone in the leader's voice when he replies, "We may have had something to do with it, yeah. You alone?"

"I ain't exactly a people person, if'n ya hadn't noticed," is Daryl's surly reply.

"Well, maybe you just ain't found the right group of people, eh? Going it alone is pretty tough now days, and you, well, you seem like the kinda guy who'd fit right in with us. Got a really sweet benefits package for new members, too..." the man drawls out.

That elicits more raucous laughter, and a new voice says, "Hell yeah! Collected us a fine bit of poontang from the SUV there."

Another adds, "Got a nice young piece of ass from the car, too. They're still pretty feisty, too, just how I like 'em."

Beth feels bile rise in the back of her throat and swallows rapidly, trying to hold it down. She clutches at the turquoise pendant, squeezing it so tight that the rough edge digs painfully hard into her palm. Daryl has it a hundred times worse though. These strangers have taken one look at him and lumped him in with them as a murderer and a rapist. She can't imagine how horrible that must feel.

Daryl is slow to respond, and to the men around him, it probably looks like he's considering their offer. "Ima stick to goin' it alone. Don't gotta worry bout some sumbitch tryin' to stab me in the back that ways."

There's a long sigh and the leader says, "I know exactly what you're talking about, had to deal with a bit of that myself. Well, that's a damn shame, we could use a man like you. If you change your mind, we're holed up at a white farmhouse with a black door and a broken down tractor in the yard a couple miles up this road. Ain't hangin' around but for a couple of days more, though, before we head on down to Florida. We ain't doin' another cold winter, fuck that shit." Boots trod on the pavement again and then the doors slam shut. A couple of seconds later, the vehicle roars off down the road.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Quick update this time! This chapter just flowed and was very easy to write, if only they all did this! Thanks to PatienceTyme for the beta help! You rock! Also, to everyone who reviewed, your words are so encouraging, I can't even express my thanks to you for taking the time to tell me how you feel. I mean, I could and I did, but words just aren't enough. Ok, now seriously, if you haven't read my Walking Dead story "Killer of Enemies", you really should do that, like, right now, before reading this chapter. I'm just saying. Was that a spoiler? It might have been a spoiler. Maybe.

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She waits until she can't hear the engine and is about to move out from under the car when Daryl says, "Not yet." About five minutes passes. "A'ight, come on out." She's barely even upright before he takes her by the arm and leads her to the relative safety of the woods. They keep walking for a good ten minutes, his grip on her gentle but insistent, his other hand loosely gripping the stock on his crossbow and ready to raise and fire the weapon at a moment's notice. Finally, he slows to a stop and gives her an apologetic squeeze before releasing her.

Beth is shivering, and it's not just because of the cold mud caked all over her. She rubs ineffectually at her stained clothing, trying to shake off the larger chunks that are starting to dry.

"Ya a'right?" Daryl asks, his dark blue eyes examining her while he leans against a tree.

She nods, drawing in a shuddering breath. "Yeah. Are you?" she returns, because he was in far more danger than she was.

He gives her a brief nod and hands her the red rag he always has in his back pocket, gesturing at his right cheek to indicate that she's got some mud on her face.

"Why didn't we run into the woods?" she wonders, wiping the cloth over her skin. It smells like him, of woods and smoke and sweat.

Daryl shifts and looks down at the ground. "Didn't even hear the truck 'til it came over top of that hill, an' they saw me 'bout the same time I laid eyes on 'em. But you, the trunk was blockin' their view of ya. Didn't want 'em to know ya was there. If we'd 'a run, they'd 'a seen ya for sure. Wasn't gonna let that happ'n."

It's a fairly long speech for him, and she digests his words, realizing, "You knew they were the same ones that killed those people? How?"

"The truck was red, same shade as scratches on the side of the SUV an' the back of the car."

Biting her lip, she hands him back the rag and asks, "Did you know they took two women prisoner too?"

He says nothing, just crams the red cloth back into his pocket.

"We're going to help them, right?" she demands. "We're not just going to leave them with those monsters, are we?" He pushes off of the tree and stalks away, and she hurries after him, calling, "Daryl, please, we have do something, we can't just leave them. If that was me..."

He whips around so fast that she almost walks into his chest. "I'd a' killed 'em for even lookin' at ya," he tells her fiercely, his eyes blazing and his face inches from her own.

Wide-eyed, Beth stares at him for a long moment and swallows down the lump in her throat. Then she tilts her chin up, and challenges, "Well, maybe they don't have someone to do that for them anymore. Maybe he was one of those bodies back by the road."

A muscle works in the side of Daryl's jaw. His eyes slide away from hers and then back. "If we do this, ya gotta do exactly what I tell ya to, no questions. Can ya do that?"

She's agreeing before he's even finished. "I'll do whatever you ask, I promise."

Daryl studies her face and nods. "A'ight then. Come on." He starts walking again—in the exact same direction he was before.

Beth is so surprised, she just stands there and ends up having to jog to catch up to him. "I thought we were gonna head back and get Rick and the others, there's no telling how many of them there are!"

"I know, that's why I wanna scout the place some first, get an idea of how many men, what kinda guns they got." He darts her a quick look through his shaggy hair and adds, "They got a kid."

"What?"

"It wasn't two women they took, but a woman an' a kid," he grimly explains.

It never even occurred to her that the comics she has in her backpack might have belonged to a kid. The knowledge hits her so hard, she stumbles to a halt.

Daryl reaches out to steady her with his hand. "Hey, hey... easy now. Ya okay?"

Beth gives him a jerky nod, blinking rapidly. "Yeah. God. What kind of animals are these people?"

"Animals don't do this sorta shit," he tells hers in a harsh voice, scanning the forest around them for a moment before he urges her onward, his hand still wrapped around her elbow. "We're gettin' close. The farmhouse is 'bout a mile that ways," he gestures with his chin.

"Okay," she murmurs, drawing strength from his touch. They walk for a few more minutes and reach an area that seems a little more open, with a large tree in the middle of it. He stops at the foot of the tree and turns her to face him.

"Ya remember how ya promised to do whatever I told ya, no questions asked?" he says.

She bobs her head. "Yes."

"Ok, what I want ya to do is climb this tree and wait."

"You want me to what?" she asks in disbelief, looking at the tree in question.

Daryl's hand tightens around her arm, and he repeats, "I want ya to climb this here tree and wait for me." He looks away from her and chews the inside of his cheek. "I can't take ya with me, not into this shitstorm. If somethin' happened to you..." his lips tighten and he draws in a ragged breath, shaking his head as if he's trying to dispel that image from his mind. "I can't take that chance, not with these sons a' bitches. You're gonna wait here, and I'll be back in a couple 'a hours. Ya stay in the tree, quiet an' outta sight. Ya don't come down 'til I come back, no matter what ya see or hear. Ya hear me?"

She wants to argue with him so bad that she has to bite her lip painfully hard to keep the words from tumbling out. A promise is a promise though, and Beth Greene doesn't break hers. In the end, she just says, "All right." Before she can talk herself out of it, she steps in close to wrap her arms around his neck and then tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Good luck and hurry back," she whispers, her cheeks pink from her audacity. Hugging him tight, she rests her head on his shoulder.

As usual, he stiffens at the contact, his blue eyes flickering with surprise when she kisses him. After a slight hesitation, his arms slide up and around to hold her ever so gently, as if she were as fragile as spun glass. He turns his head and she can feel his warm breath tickling her hair when he inhales and exhales slow and steady, the tension draining from his lean body.

She holds the embrace as long as she dares and then lets go of him before he can start fidgeting. It seems like his arms tighten around her ever so slightly before he releases her. "Give me a leg up," she orders, moving to the side of the oak tree, and resting her hand on the bark.

Wordlessly, he joins her beside the tree and lowers his shoulder, clasping his hands together to give her a boost. When she steps, he lifts her up enough that she can get onto the low, thick branch with relative ease. "I used to be pretty good at climbing trees," she boasts, grinning down at him. Her backpack is jostling around a bit so she tightens the straps.

"I ain't surprised. Climb up a 'lil higher, and find ya a good nook to settle into." He watches as she complies, and gives a nod of approval when she's about twenty feet off of the ground. Higher than that, the thinner branches start to cluster out from the main trunk, making it harder to maneuver. "If ya get uncomfortable, shift ta another limb, so yer arms or legs ain't fallin' asleep." He slips his crossbow back around to cradle in his hands, surveying the area around them one last time. "Ya a'ight?"

Beth shrugs, giving him a crooked smile. "I will be when you get back."

He chews the inside of his cheek again like he's debating saying something but just gives her a single nod before he turns and walks away.

She watches him until the forest undergrowth hides him from her view and sighs, leaning her head back against the tree and tries very hard not to think about what could happen to him when he gets to the camp. The sun has been up for more than an hour and it's cool without being cold. A nice breeze blows through the autumn brown leaves on the trees and the quiet rustle of squirrels and chipmunks in the leaves below accompanied by the occasional bird call is quite soothing. While she waits, she finds herself humming quietly to ease the passage of time. She debates getting one of the comics out of her satchel, but decides against it for now. After about thirty minutes, her butt cheeks start to go numb, so she shifts around on the branch.

It feels like she's finally found a comfortable position when she hears voices. A few minutes later, two men come into view. The taller one is balding, with thin brown hair. His companion is shorter and fatter, with long and curly black hair that he keeps tied back with a leather cord.

"Tracks are clear as a bell," the taller one says, staring down at the ground as he walks along. "They're headin' straight for the house, these ain't even an hour old."

Shorty shakes his head, "That don't make no sense. Why tell us he was a loner, then, why not just tell us he had a partner?"

"I'm tellin' ya, I think he's gotta woman with him. Men don't walk the same as women, and these boots pretty damn small for men's boots."

"Yeah, well, maybe he's got a boy with him," Shorty smirks. "You know me, I ain't picky."

They're directly under the tree now, and Beth almost holds her breath when they pass beneath her.

"Hold up, Vic," Baldy says, scowling. "The tracks end."

Vic comes over to stand by him, though it's obvious that he has no idea what he's looking at. "What do you mean they end?"

"One set of tracks just ends. Crossbow man heads on that way toward the house," he points in that direction. "But the other set, the small tracks, they just end right here." The tracker looks all around, and then up into the tree. "Oh ho, lookee what we got here!" he crows in triumph when he catches sight of Beth.

"Ooo, and ain't she a looker too." Vic leers up at her, calling, "Hey girl, why don't you come on down here, so we can introduce ourselves all proper like."

In response, Beth pulls her gun and aims it at him.

"Whoa now, pretty lady!" he says, licking his lips and holding his hands up in a placating gesture, well away from his gun. "Don't mean no harm, just want to chat is all. Just put that piece away and climb down here, I promise we won't hurt you."

The tracker has his assault rifle in his hands, but isn't actually pointing it at her. There's a cruel smile on his face, and his eyes are as flat and hard as a shark's. "She ain't gonna do it, I can see it in her eyes, she ain't no killer. I bet you killed walkers before, girl, but killing them ain't the same as killing someone who's living, and you know that. You pull that trigger and you'll have every walker for miles heading right here for you, and your friend? Ain't no way he'll get here in time to save you. Where you gonna go?"

She's shot at people before back when the prison was being attacked, but she has no idea if she actually hit anyone then because she'd been all but blinded by tears of grief and anger that day. These men are less than fifteen feet away from her, so close that if she fires, she's almost certain to hit and potentially kill one of them. Knowing the kind of men they are and what they'll do if they get their hands on her should make it easier, but it doesn't.

"Walkers don't climb trees," Beth retorts and pulls the trigger, but there's no boom, only a dry click.

Vic gapes at her and then looks at his friend. "The bitch tried to shoot me, Stan! I thought you said she wasn't gonna do it?"

"Quit your pissin' and moanin', she'd probably have missed even if it had gone off. That's a problem nowdays, keeping ammo dry. I been gettin' a fair share of misfires myself," Stan informs her conversationally. "Now come on down outta that tree."

She reholsters her Glock, ignoring him.

Still pissed at his near miss, Vic brings up his gun and aims it at her, "I'll get her down."

The balding tracker smacks the other man's barrel down, "Save your ammo. It ain't like she can get away from us, where's she gonna go? She can't stay up there forever." He gives the tree a speculative look and moves his weapon around so it's hanging from his back. "Hell, I'll get her down, and then I'm gonna teach her some manners." Stan walks over to the base of the tree and jumps up to grab that bottom limb. It takes him a couple of tries to hook his leg around it and his clumsy efforts to haul himself fully onto the branch would be comical were the situation not so serious.

There's not really anywhere else for her to climb, not with the thick cluster of branches reaching up toward the forest canopy above her current height, so she draws her knife and waits.

Once he's in the tree, Stan seems to have no trouble from there on out, quickly making his way up the tree until he's just below her. "Hello, baby, come to papa," he drawls, and his lust-filled grin is enough to make her stomach lurch with nausea. Hooking one arm around the trunk while standing on a thick limb, he reaches up to grab her boot while his friend below whoops and catcalls.

Beth grips the thin branch above her with one hand and stabs him, quick and hard, with the other.

"Fucking bitch!" he curses, yanking his hand back and blood wells up from the deep cut she's given him. "I'm gonna make you pay for that, you little cunt," he vows and lunges at her boot again, giving it a quick and hard yank toward him before she can cut him again.

It's enough to make her lose her balance. Instinctively, she grabs at the branch over her with both hands, dropping the knife in the process. It clatters off of a limb before hitting the ground. "Let go of me," she yells, kicking out with her leg in an attempt to free it.

"Now you got her," Vic hollers, chortling with laughter. "Drag her ass on down!"

"Yeah, I got you now, bitch," Stan gloats and hauls on her boot, trying to pull her down to him. A quick twist of her ankle is enough for her to slip out of it, and as soon as her foot is free, she lashes out and kicks him in the face. "Goddammit! You whore!"

Desperate to get away, she tries to wedge between some limbs and pull herself even higher, but the branches are too thin and she weighs too much. They bow and creak from the load, coming precariously close to breaking, so she has no choice but to back down to the larger limb again, bringing her feet into Stan's range again.

Vic isn't yelling anymore up at them anymore, instead he's staring off into the woods, where something too big and too fast to be a walker is running at him through the undergrowth. "Stan, you seein' this?" He raises his gun, aiming it that direction. A massive dark shape comes into view, and his rising hysteria is evident in his voice, "Stan?"

"What?" Stan snarls, his hand clapped over his nose which is also streaming blood from where she kicked him. "Holy shit," he exclaims as a black bear charges the other man.

The short man backpedals and fires his assault rifle at the large animal, but panic causes his shots to go wild and then he screams when it tears into him. Massive paws draw him in close while the jaws clamp around his head and Vic's strangled shrieks come an abrupt end. Throughout the attack, the bear doesn't growl or snarl or even do that grunting chuff of sound Beth has always associated with bears, instead it makes a deep motor-like pulsing sound that is just as menacing in its own right. The bear tosses the body aside and then looks up into the tree, it's muzzle dripping with blood.

Stan's attention is no longer on her, but on the beast below them. He fumbles with his gun strap and tries to slide it around his torso with his bloody hand when the tree shakes violently from the weight of the big bear climbing it. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," the balding man chants, giving up on using his gun so he can get higher, but Beth's standing on the only branch thick enough to hold his weight, and she doesn't want him anywhere near her.

She kicks and stomps down at his hands as they reach for the limb. Beyond him, the black bear hauls itself closer and closer to them with surprising speed.

The tracker is far more afraid of those gaping jaws below him than he is of getting kicked in the face again. He ignores her blows, grabbing at her pants leg and the tree and anything else he can get his hands on to clamber upwards, but the bear moves even faster and sinks its teeth into his boot before he can get out of reach. "Help!" Stan cries, clutching at her while trying to wretch his trapped foot free. In his panic, he grabs her backpack and his weight, along with that of the bear pulling on him, is causing her to lose her own grip on the limb she's hanging onto.

"Let go of me!" she yells, squirming her shoulders from side to side and trying to shake him loose. The sound of her voice seems to incite the bear's fury because it starts making that pulsing sound of pure aggression again, reaching up to bat at Stan with a giant paw. Howling with pain when the claws rips into his thigh, he tries to pull himself up with the backpack, and her aching fingers can't hold her up anymore.

Beth screams as she falls back, her arms flailing as she tries to grab at something—anything—to catch herself. She manages to latch onto a side branch but the bark and twigs on it strip right off in her grip, and all it does is slow her fall. When she hits the ground, it is with bone jarring force, knocking the wind clear out of her.

Blinking the stars out of her vision, she struggles to catch her breath. In the tree above her, the enraged bear is savaging Stan's leg while he sobs and beats at the huge head with his fist without achieving much success. It shakes him like a dog would a stuffed toy and heaves its head to the side, flinging the man out of the tree. The low, thick limb they used to climb the tree breaks his fall in the worst way possible when he smacks into it with his lower back. There's a sickening crack and then he hits the ground a few feet away from her. Blood is gushing from the ragged gashes in his leg, but he's still alive. She'd throw up if she had the breath to do so.

The bear is coming down from the tree and Stan rolls over to his side, eyes dazed and complexion pale from blood loss. "Help me," he pleads and drags himself toward her with his arms, his limp and useless legs trailing behind him.

Her body finally remembers how to breath and Beth draws in a few quick breaths before she shakes her head at Stan, because she can't do anything for him. She _won't_ do anything for him. The tracker's face twists with hatred and agony, and he reaches out for her right as the bear grabs him from behind, pulling him back. Beth closes her eyes and turns her head away, but it doesn't block out Stan's final gasp or the wet crunch that kills him.

It takes all of her energy to raise her hand to her neck, and she clasps the turquoise pendant one last time while waiting for the bear to finish her off as well. She can hear as well as feel the heavy steps as it comes over to her, and finds herself holding her breath as it... sniffs her face. Quite enthusiastically, at that. Then it nudges her shoulder with its snout like a dog, and chuffs.

She remembers hearing stories about people pretending to be dead around a bear and surviving because of it, but she's always thought it was just that, stories. The animal pushes at her a couple more times, with what seems like increasing urgency, and she hears a familiar and unwelcome sound, faint snarling and growling. Walkers. They've been drawn to the area by the gunfire and screams, no doubt.

Death by walkers, or death by bear. Neither one sounds particularly tempting. The bear shoves her again, hard enough to raise her shoulder off the ground. Opening her eyes, she throws out her hand toward his head and pushes it away, muttering, "Stop that!" In retrospect it probably isn't the smartest thing she's ever done, given that it has just killed two men, but it doesn't seen the least bit perturbed by her action.

The bear hovers over her and stares down with dark, intelligent eyes, the large nose twitching. Slowly, he backs a few feet away from her and sits down, as though he's waiting to see what she does next.

Unpredictable. That's a word Beth has heard many times when referring to black bears, and she gives the large animal a wary look. Right now, the bear is acting more curious than threatening. She decides to treat it the same way she would when confronting a large, strange dog, by avoiding sudden movements and doing her best not to make direct eye contact.

The walkers are getting closer and the bear still isn't acting even remotely aggressive. She won't be that lucky with the undead if they reach her, so she sits up, slowly, but still way too fast as it were. "Whoa..." The sudden bout of dizziness she feels almost makes her keel over, and she grabs at her head with one hand and props herself up with the other.

The bear walks over to her and she goes still, wondering if now it has decided to attack. Instead, it circles around her and butts its head up under her arm, acting like it's trying to help her to her feet. Right about then is when things start to feel surreal. Using him—at least she's pretty sure it's a male, because she knows female black bears aren't anywhere near this big—as a brace, she manages to stand. The ash brown fur under her hand is both coarse and dense, and like nothing she's ever felt before.

Beth looks down at him and then she sees the scars. They're scattered all over his back, streaks of grayish white skin that show quite clearly through his fur coat, some as long as her arm. Unnaturally straight and numerous, there is no way wounds like this came from fights with bears or other animals.

Now she thinks she understands why he's acting so friendly toward her, because at some point in the past, he was someone's pet, though victim is really a better word. Either way, he's used to being around humans. Whoever it was must have used a bullwhip or something similar on him to leave scars that deep. He doesn't have a collar on and there's no ring around his neck that indicates he ever wore one, but he was set free when the infection started spreading, more than enough time has passed for the hair to grow back in. With her father being a veterinarian, she remembers him telling her some horror stories about dogs he'd treated. On occasion, he had patients that had been so viciously abused by men that they hated and feared all men equally, while behaving with normal canine affection and loyalty toward women they encountered.

The bear's murderous rage at the sight of the two men makes sense in that light, as does his relative calm around her, by comparison. She's just glad that Daryl isn't around, or he might have been killed as well.

"You poor thing," Beth whispers, tears stinging her eyes at the pain the animal must have been put through, "Who would do such a thing to you?" Without thinking, she brushes her fingers over the largest scar that stretches from just above his right shoulder clear across his back to the opposite side and down by where his ribs end. The bear freezes at the unexpected touch and she yanks her hand away, fearing that now she's pushed her luck enough that he'll turn on her. Instead, he just peers at her for a long moment before shifting his eyes away.

Biting her lip, she murmurs, "I'm sorry for whoever did that to you. You didn't do anything to deserve scars like that."

He gives her another long look and his gaze is so intent, it's like he understands every word she is saying. That's when she notices something else unusual about the bear—he has blue eyes. It wasn't obvious at first because they are not pale like a husky's or the wall eye of a horse, but a rich, dark blue. She never knew bears could have eyes that color.

A walker staggers into the open, snarling at the sight and smell of the bear and human. Raising its arms, it picks up speed and shambles toward them. Beth reaches for her belt knife only to remember that she had dropped it earlier when fighting with Stan in the tree. She scans the ground, spying it a few feet away from Vic's corpse right next to her boot, and rushes over to grab it. By the time she turns around, the bear has already taken care of the walker, smashing the zombie to the ground with a powerful swipe of his paw.

She can see more walkers shuffling toward them from all directions, and while the bear did an excellent job of dispatching one walker, she's not sure if that was a fluke because the walker had once been a man, or what. Hopping on one leg, she yanks her boot back on and makes her way around the side of the tree. Not for the first time, she wishes she were taller when she eyes that low hanging branch that's a good foot and a half above her head. It takes her two tries to latch onto the branch, and she tries to walk up the trunk of the tree to get her feet high enough to get on top of the limb.

A startled squeak escapes her when she feels something push up under her rump. The bear is standing on his hind legs to shoulder her the rest of the way into the tree. It's hard to believe that an animal could be this well trained to respond to visual cues, but when she looks down at him, the scars on his back remind her of the pain he had to endure as well. It isn't a fair trade, not even close.

"Go away before the walkers get you," she says, making shooing motions at him.

The bear snorts at her with what seems like derision and drops back to all fours. He circles the open area under the tree, looking between the bodies of Vic and Stan, for all manner and intent appearing as though he's trying to decide what to do next. Beth sincerely hopes he doesn't decide to eat them, he's been a nice bear to her so far, but she's got her limits. Her apprehension seems well founded when he grabs Stan's tattered leg and starts dragging him into the woods.

"Hey, don't eat them, they'll make you sick!" she calls down to him in a loud whisper.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores her and keeps pulling the body through the underbrush and down a slope until he's out of view, making enough noise that the walkers veer in that direction. When he returns, he does the same with Vic, hauling the corpse to wherever he stashed the other body, and she can see a number of walkers converging on that point, their bloodlust making them move with increasing speed. A few minutes later, there's a sudden and violent commotion and Beth finds herself grabbing at her pendant again, praying that the bear is all right.

He appears a short time later, and ambles under the tree. His fur is well-splattered with dark walker blood, but that thick, dense coat must keep him well protected because he seems to be unharmed. He glances up at her but walks on, heading the same direction Daryl did an hour or so ago.

The ramifications of that sink in and she calls, "Hey! Bear! Don't go that way!" He doesn't even slow down.

Pursing her lips, she whistles like she's calling a dog and finally he swings his large head around to peer up at her. "Fine, go that way, but if you run into a man with a crossbow, you leave him be, you hear me? Not all men are bad, ok? There's still some good men out there. It'd mean a lot to me." He starts walking again, and she whispers, "_He_ means a lot to me."

The bear stops dead in his tracks and spins, rising to his hind feet to peer at her for a long moment. She can just hear his quiet chuff before he drops to all fours and turns again, breaking into a trot and then a lumbering run heading in the direction of the farmhouse that quickly takes him out of her sight.

The forest is quiet after that, and she can't even hear the breeze rustling through the leaves anymore. All she can do is wait and pray for Daryl's safe return.

A/N Part Deux: See, I told you to read "Killer of Enemies." Aren't you glad you listened to me? If you didn't, you're probably really confused, but I warned you! Now go read it! Thank you for reading, and if you like this story (or KoE for that matter), please review! Authors love reviews!

Also, some trivia, just cause. Black bears do not growl and are generally very silent animals (rather like a certain WD character we know). They snap their jaws together, moan, wail, and forcefully snort (which I call chuffing). When bears fight, they make the unique motor like pulse sound that I've described in this chapter. It is a very strange sound, and if you're bored, go google 'black bear sounds' and see if you can find a sound clip. One of the first links that will come up on that search is at bear dot org. They have a variety of black bear sounds there, including the one I'm talking about.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Thanks once again to PatienceTyme for the invaluable help with beta reading and for her input during the writing of this chapter. I have good news and bad news. The good news is, there's a new chapter up and it's a long one, so yay! The bad news is it'll be at least a couple of weeks before I can get the next one up, I'm going out of town to Dragoncon this week and have a lot of last minute cosplay stuff I've got to get finished with! Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read, and I especially appreciate it when you guys review too! It really encourages an author to get some verbal feedback on what you readers think of the story! Anyway, without further ado...

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A wave of exhaustion hits Beth and is strong enough that she would doze off, if she weren't painfully uncomfortable from sitting in a tree. Her entire body aches. She thinks about an hour has passed since the bear ran off. A handful of walkers have wandered past, but the scent of Stan and Vic's bodies is enough to draw them away from her tree.

The distant pop of gunfire startles her to full alertness. She hears a distinct bang, followed by another. There's a long pause, and some more random shots that seem to come from different weapons. The intermittent gunfire continues like that for about fifteen minutes and then erupts into the frenzied bursts of a full on battle. When it ends, the silence is thick and heavy. Daryl is just supposed to be scouting, not getting into a gunfight—especially when he doesn't even have a gun. Something must have gone wrong, and her fears are intensified when she sees a black cloud of smoke rising above the trees in direction of the farmhouse a short time later.

She has half a mind to climb down and go find out what is going on, but she doesn't want to break her promise to stay in the tree again, though it wasn't like she had a choice in the matter the first. Instead, she waits and prays and rubs that rough spot on the turquoise so much her thumb pad is starting to feel raw. She hasn't decided what she will do if he doesn't come back, because she's trying not to even think about it as a possibility.

The sun is high in the sky when Daryl finally appears, walking toward the tree at a brisk pace, holding his crossbow loosely in his hands. Beth scrambles down the tree and runs toward him. He moves the weapon out of the way and braces himself before she throws her arms around him, a soft grunt escaping him at the ensuing impact and she's so overwhelmed with relief that she can't figure out whether she's on the verge of laughing or crying. Somehow she manages not to do either and that's a good thing because she'd probably have sounded hysterical. "Thank God you're all right," she manages to control her emotions enough to whisper against the front of his shirt, which smells even more strongly of smoke than usual.

He hugs back with his free arm using the same gentleness he did before, resting his chin on the top of her head. After a few moments, he draws away from her to look her over, his eyes carefully examining her for any signs of injury. "Ya ok? They didn't hurt ya, did they? Hell, why didn't ya just shoot 'em?"

"My gun jammed," Beth returns and then gives him an incredulous look. "Wait, what about you? I thought you were just going to scout, what was with all that gunfire?!" It doesn't even occur to her to wonder how he even knows that she'd been attacked in the first place.

"Yeah, that was the plan, and then I overheard them talkin' and..." Daryl directs a black look behind her where the leafy ground is stained with blood before he speaks in a tone that sounds almost uncertain, "Then I... the bear..." He falls silent and shrugs, as though he doesn't know what else to say.

Her eyes go as wide as saucer plates. "Oh my God, you saw the bear too?"

Darting a quick glance at her, he mutters, "Musta scared the livin' shit out of ya."

Beth wrinkles her nose, conceding, "To be honest, at the time I was too focused on the guy trying to drag me out of the tree to be worried about the bear at first. Sure, it was pretty scary, I mean, did you see the size of that thing? I didn't even know black bears got that big!"

"Yeah, he's pretty big," he allows.

Nodding, she continues, "And then after I fell out of the tree, I don't know." Daryl's face tightens at mention of that, and she hastily assures him, "I was ok—I mean, I _am_ ok, outside of being sore, but I was laying there just trying to catch my breath and waiting for him to attack me. Then he started pushing on me, like a big dog or something, and I could hear walkers getting closer, so I sat up. The bear was just sitting there, I figured if he had wanted to hurt me, he would have done so already. Then I saw the scars, and it all made sense. You saw them, right? The scars?"

He seems profoundly uncomfortable and ducks his chin in acknowledgement.

"As soon as I saw them, I realized he must have been someone's pet." Beth shakes her head in anger and corrects, "Well, not a pet, more like a whipping post, the poor thing."

Daryl is staring at her like she's lost her mind. "You think I... that he was a goddamn pet?"

She frowns at his tone, "Well, like I said, it makes sense. I mean, he had a complete lack of fear of humans judging from how he went after those thugs without any hesitation, and then he acted almost tame around me by comparison."

"That's cause he likes you a hell of a lot more than those shitheads!" he bursts out, and his cheeks redden.

Not sure why he's making such a big deal about this, she sniffs, "Well, so he's a good judge of character too, cause you saw him and he left you alone too. And do you really think he got those scars in a fight with another animal? Only a human would so cruel to abuse an animal that horribly."

He chews the inside of his cheek, turning his head away from her. "Naw," he finally mumbles. "Ya got that right, the man who dun that was a real sumbitch."

"Well, whoever it is, is most certainly dead now, and the bear's probably better off for it in the long run. Anyway, so what are we doing? Going to get Rick and some of the others?"

Daryl starts walking away from her, heading back toward the farmhouse. "Ain't no point."

Beth follows him, demanding, "What do you mean? And you still haven't explained what was up with all the shooting and the smoke?"

"Ain't no point cause the camp's clear," he explains, trudging through the woods a few steps ahead of her. "The bear killed 'em all. That's what they was firin' at. Smoke's from the fire I set to draw the walkers away."

She can't believe what she's hearing. "Why would the bear attack them? I mean, I guess they could be the ones who put all those scars on him..."

"Naw, those scars are old. These assholes only banded together after things went to shit." He pushes some branches out of his way and holds them, so she can pass without getting swatted in the face, "They definitely done somethin' to piss him off though."

Considering that for a moment, Beth's eyebrows draw together while she brushes past him and then lets him take over guiding them again. Worried, she wonders, "What about those people they took prisoner? What happened to them, are they ok?"

Daryl grimaces, admitting, "Bout what ya'd expect, after what they been through. It's a woman and a boy about ten years old or so."

God, the child is younger than Carl, even. Even sheltered as she has been by her family, she's known there were sexual predators that target women for a long time. She just can't wrap her head around the kind of evil someone has inside them that is so virulent and perverse, it makes them willing to attack and molest children.

He's still talking, and she makes herself focus on his words, "The bastards chained them to a radiator in the room. I tried to go in there, see bout settin' 'em free but I guess they thought I was one of those assholes cause they kinda lost it when they saw me. Gonna let you go in first an' help 'em, figure they'll rather see your face than my ugly ass mug. I moved the dead bodies so the walkers wouldn't be banging down the door tryin' to get in after 'em. Shut the house up tight, and came back here to get ya. They'll be a'ight until we get back, won't take much longer."

She fights the urge not to be angry at the two victims for judging him based on his appearance, especially when he is far from ugly. Given what they've had to endure during their captivity, they'd probably be afraid of any man, but it bothers to know that Daryl would be so misjudged when he is such a good and decent man. "I'm sorry. That must get old, people looking at you and seeing nothing but a..." her voice trails off, searching for the right word.

"Redneck asshole?" he supplies with dry humor, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Been gettin' the same shit my whole life. Ain't a reason for things to be no different now." He doesn't even sound angry, it just is what it is.

"But things _are_ different," she insists. "You've changed. We both have, remember?"

"Yeah, but they can't tell that just by lookin' at us. People are e'en more suspicious now than they was before—they gotta be."

Beth sighs, knowing he's right. A thought occurs to her and she asks, "So what ended up happening to the bear?"

"Well, he got shot a few times..." Daryl seems startled by her gasp of dismay.

"Oh no! Do you think he'll be all right?" She shouldn't be as upset as she is at the thought of the bear being hurt because he's killed people, and that makes him dangerous. However, he saved her life in the process, and she can't help feeling grateful for that, as unlikely as the circumstances may have been. It's hard for her to feel any pity or remorse for the dead men, knowing how evil and cruel they were. If Daryl had killed them, or Rick, or Michonne, or any of the others, it wouldn't be murder, but justice.

"He's fine, bears are pretty damn hard to kill," he reassures her. "After he finished off those pricks, he just, uh, went away."

"Well, I'm glad he'll be ok," Beth comments with relief. They must be getting near to their destination now, she can see a break in the trees ahead. The wind from earlier has kicked back up but is blowing in such a way that she is only just now able to smell the smoke from the fire, and there's another stronger odor on the wind that's sweet and cloying. "You know, Rick thinks he saw dog bites on some of those bodies that were burned at the farm, it would have been a small dog, like a terrier, but still. Remember all those hoof prints all over the floor in the house when we first got there? And now, this whole thing with the bear... It's like the animals around here are going crazy or something."

"Ain't 'bout 'em goin crazy. It's 'bout balance," Daryl says, as though he's given it some thought. "When I did that ceremony with those Injuns, the old man said with the dead walkin'—only he called 'em Wendigo, like from their stories—and everything gone to shit, that the whole damn earth was outta whack. Hell, even when we ain't worryin' bout walkers, there's cannibals and murderin' bastards and men like the Governor we gotta look out for. Yeah, there's some good people left, but we're gettin' our asses kicked. We need all the help we can get."

Staring at his back, she says slowly, "So, what, did he mean that nature itself was starting to fight back?"

"Yeah. Well, sorta, anyway."

There's a split rail fence right when they come out of the trees, and they're on a low sloping hill that overlooks the farmland. For some reason when they had said a farmhouse, she'd imagined it'd be something like the one she grew up in, and the old house itself is in a sense. It's just the land isn't cleared for a small cattle farm, but a peach orchard. The once neat rows of peach trees are now wild and overgrown, and that sickly sweet stench in the air is the remnants of the summer's peach crop rotting in the tall grass.

Slinging his crossbow over his shoulder, Daryl climbs the fence and jumps down to the other side. She does the same, taking his offered hand before hopping down as well. He raises his crossbow to eye level, ready to shoot, but the unkempt rows are clear of undead for now. Beth draws her knife and stays close behind him as he leads her toward the two-story house that's centered on the property. When they get closer, she sees it is the equipment barn housing the tractors and supplies that is burning. It's probably been thirty minutes or so since it was set on fire and the flames are still leaping high into the sky. The small herd of walkers that were initially attracted to the gunfire walk right into the inferno, like moths drawn to a flame.

A red Ford Raptor pickup truck with a dented in fender is parked in front of the house, the door open and hanging loose like something tried to rip it clear off of the vehicle. Two long bloody trails lead from it to the fire, indicating to her that Daryl must have put the bodies in the barn before setting it ablaze. There's a hardtop Jeep and a Suburban parked a short distance away that seem to be in working order, aside from a couple of bullet holes in the driver's side of the SUV.

The old farmhouse is in between them and the fire, so when they approach the back side of the house, zombies are blocked from seeing them. They are careful as they make their way up onto the back porch. Daryl opens the back door, making sure the foyer is clear before slipping inside and waving her in. After closing the door behind her, he guides her through the laundry room and into the kitchen, which is trashed, blood and bullet holes everywhere. A hall leads from the kitchen to the front door and though there are no bodies to be seen, dark streaks stain the hardwood floor. The front door looks like it has been bashed in, so a couch is wedged against it in an attempt to keep any walkers from coming in that way.

The amount of destruction in the living and dining rooms is impressive, with streaks of bullet holes in the walls, bloody paw prints everywhere, upended table and chairs, glass from an overturned china cabinet strewn across the floor. It's enough to draw a quiet, "Wow," out of Beth as she surveys the damage.

"Yeah..." Daryl agrees, looking around with something like satisfaction. "Ya get a angry 750 pound bear in here, in these kinda close quarters, men tend to panic. It got ugly in a hurry."

She can't even imagine what that must have been like. "I bet," is all she says. "It's a miracle he didn't get killed."

Rubbing his chest with one hand, he grimaces, "Well, like I said, he took a coupla' hits, but all that did was piss him off even more. Come on, they're this way." He walks into the family room, where a set of stairs goes up to the second floor, and she follows him up.

Daryl stops at one of the doors, and she can hear whispering and a soft whimper coming from the other side. His dark blue eyes study her and he sounds almost worried when he quietly asks, "Ya ready for this? Cause I gotta warn you, it's pretty damn ugly in there."

If this particular man says it is ugly, then whatever is beyond the door is going to be far beyond her worst imagining. Beth wraps her fingers around the turquoise pendant before drawing in a deep breath and exhaling. "Yeah, I think so."

When he sees her grab at the necklace, his expression seems to soften just a little, and then he nods once, giving her the go ahead.

She raises her hand and knocks on the door, calling out, "Hello? My name is Beth, Beth Greene. My friend Daryl and I, we're here to help you, ok?" It seems weird to be knocking and introducing herself, but she wants to be sure they know she and Daryl are not with the group that took them hostage. There is no sound at all coming from the other side. After waiting a moment for a response and receiving none, she warns, "I'm going to open the door now, all right?" Silence. Beth slowly opens the door.

The smell in the room is indescribable, an unholy blend of urine and human sweat, of fear and despair. The woman is probably around thirty or so, with red hair and freckles and the boy curled against her side is ten at the most. His skin is a rich chocolate color and his hair is braided into cornrows that extend down to the nape of his neck. Both are naked and have been severely beaten, sporting black eyes, bruises and small bloody lacerations all over their bodies. As Daryl had said, they are handcuffed to opposite ends of a heavy chain that runs through a cast iron radiator. A bed in the middle of the room has been stripped of the sheets, and the mattress has dark stains all over it, remnants of the abuse these two have suffered.

Beth swallows down her nausea and fights against the sting of tears in her eyes as she approaches the pair while Daryl lingers in the doorway. "Hey," she says softly, giving them a wavering smile. "We're here to help you get out of here, ok?"

They cower back, reduced to an animalistic fear that is pitiful and heartbreaking, and the woman starts weeping.

At the sight, Beth can't hold back her own tears and wipes at her face with the back of her hand. Turning away from them to address Daryl, Beth asks, "Can you take a look at these handcuffs, maybe we can pick the locks?"

He pushes off from the doorjamb with his shoulder, taking a step toward her. "Yeah, lemme have a look see."

Without warning, the boy launches himself at them, shouting, "You stay away from her! I'll kill you if you touch her!"

"Quint! No!" the woman cries, struggling to get to her feet.

Beth finds herself between the desperately terrified child and Daryl, who lunges forward both to pull her away and thrust his body between them. In the struggle, she doesn't even realize that the boy's grabbed her knife until Daryl curses when it sinks into his forearm. "Goddammit!"

He shoves the kid off of him with his injured arm and hustles Beth just outside of the chain's reach. Quint retreats to stand in front of the woman, holding the knife with both hands and keeping it pointed at them, his small naked body tense and ready to attack again if need be.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the woman babbles in between her sobs and collapses back down to the floor. "He didn't mean to do it. Please, he didn't mean to..."

"How bad is it?" Beth asks apprehensively, grabbing Daryl's hand between both of hers to hold his arm still so she can get a better look at the injury. The wound is in his right arm, but doesn't seem to be affecting his ability to move his fingers gauging from how his fingers tighten around hers. There's blood seeping through the cut in his ragged black denim jacket. Given his short temper, she's surprised to see that he's more irritated than angry about getting stabbed.

"It's a'ight," Daryl mutters, shooting a glance at the kid. He pulls his hand free so he can rip off the bottom edge of his flannel shirt to offer to her. "Hell, he ain't done nothin' I wouldn'ta in his situation."

She ties the makeshift bandage around the wound, wincing in sympathy at his hiss of pain when she tightens it. Then they both look at the woman and child, and Beth explains, "We're trying to help you, but we can't do that if you won't let us."

The woman's sobs subside when she seems to realize that they're not going to be punished for the attack, and she grabs the boy's thin shoulder, giving it a slight shake. "Quint, give the knife back."

Quint shakes his head in quick short jerks and the knife stays where it is, pointed at them.

Gesturing at them with his chin, Daryl speaks in a low voice without quite looking at her, "Naw, let 'im keep it, if it makes 'im feel safer. He's just tryin' to protect ya."

Taken aback by his words, the redhead crosses her arms over her naked chest, biting her battered lip and asks, "Are they all dead?"

There's no need for her to explain who she's referring to. Beth and Daryl glance at each other before she gives the simple answer, "Yes."

Searching their faces for any sign of prevarication, the woman focuses on Daryl, squinting at him through her swollen eyes. "Are you sure? You killed them, ain't none of them left alive?"

Daryl darts a quick look at Beth before gruffly reaffirming, "Yeah, they're all dead. Made sure 'a it myself."

The tension drains of her in a long, shuddering breath and she starts crying again. "They're gone, Quint... oh thank God, they're dead... Thank God..." Forcing the boy to turn and face her, she pushes the knife down and draws him into a hug.

He is stiff in her arms, as though he can't believe what she is telling him. After a few minutes it seems to sink in, and he whimpers, "Bridget? They're gone?" before he breaks down into loud, wracking sobs of relief.

Beth watches the two comfort each other and then slips her backpack off of her shoulder. "Daryl, you think you can check some of these rooms, and see if you can find them some clothes?" she asks while unbuttoning her sweater and slipping out of it.

Daryl doesn't move or say anything, just shifts from one foot to the other with obvious reluctance while holding his crossbow loose in his good arm.

Catching sight of his hesitation, Beth reaches out and takes his hand in hers again to give it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be fine, they were just scared, is all," she insists, hoping her smile looks more confident than she feels. She doesn't think she's in any danger being left alone with these two but also is aware Daryl may not be so blasé if she gets hurt while he's gone.

He studies her for a long moment, chewing the inside of his lip indecisively. Finally he nods, and his fingers tighten around hers for a fraction of a second before he lets go. "A'ight."

Beth makes her way over to slip the knit top around the boy's shoulders, the smile fading when the child flinches at the contact and clings to Bridget even tighter. All of his protective bravado from earlier is gone. His thin arm is dropped down from the weight of the chain, and both of their wrists are encircled with bruised, bloody rings from where they've tried to pull free of the handcuffs. "And see if you can find a key for these cuffs, or a way to pick the lock at least."

"On it. Holler if ya need me," Daryl tells her and strides out of the room.

Bridget struggles to recover her composure and watches him leave, her gaze shifting to Beth. "Is it just the two of you?" she asks, sniffling and wiping tears from her face. Her green eyes are barely visible behind the shiners that have swollen her eyelids.

"Well, it's just the two of us here to help you," Beth replies, "but there's a group of us staying in a house a few miles from here. There's, hm..." she counts them up in her head, "thirteen—no fourteen of us. Five of us women, not including me, if you were worried about that. Our group was a lot bigger at one time, but..." Her voice trails off and she knits her fingers together, looking down at them.

"Things happen. I know," the other woman tells her, more tears streaming down her face. "Believe me, I know." She swallows, still keeping the boy cradled against her chest, and says, "I'm Bridget Callahan, and this is Quint."

She smiles, introducing herself again, "Beth Greene, it's good to meet you, Bridget, Quint." The boy doesn't look at her, and she remembers something, reaching for her backpack. "Actually, I think I've got something that I think belongs to you, Quint." Unzipping it, she pulls out the ziplock bag full of comics and holds it out.

Quint doesn't move, and Bridget gently takes his shoulder and turns him around enough so that he can see. The boy's dark eyes fly open with surprise and he seems almost dazed when he reaches out to take the comic books. He doesn't speak but his expression says everything that he can't put into words.

Beth feels her eyes stinging again and says, "I hope you're willing to share those, I have a friend named Carl who would love to read those."

"You have children in your group?" Bridget sounds both surprised and relieved, and watches Quint shrug out of Beth's sweater and sit cross-legged in front of the radiator. When he offers the clothing to the redheaded woman, she immediately takes it and does her best to cover her nakedness with the fabric, stretching it over the front of her body.

"Well, he's twelve, so I doubt he'd take being referred to as a child too well, but yes. And then there's his baby sister Lil... I mean, Judith, she's about eight or nine months old now." It seems like it's been so long since the prison fell that it's hard to believe only a few months ago there were at one time more than fifty survivors gathered together, and seven or eight kids, not including Lil Asskicker. No one says anything for a few seconds, and she can hear Daryl opening and shutting dresser drawers in another room, searching for clothes.

A shadow crosses Bridget's eyes at the distant sound and she worries her busted lip a little before tentatively saying, "That man..."

"Daryl," Beth supplies and just from looking at the woman's face, she knows that she has some doubts about her rescuer's rough looking appearance and gruff manner. Telling herself that Bridget would have reacted the same way regardless of who had accompanied her, even if it'd been Rick Grimes in his sheriff's deputy uniform, hat, badge and all, she swallows down her annoyance. "You don't have to worry about him, or anyone else in our group, I swear. Daryl Dixon is a good man—the best, actually—and he's saved everyone in our group many times over, including my sister Maggie and her husband Glenn. I wouldn't even be here with you now if it wasn't for him. He's the one who found your cars by the side of the road, and as soon as he figured out who had you and where they were holed up, he was dead set on getting here as fast as we could to rescue you and Quint."

The boy is toying with the zipper on his comic bag, settled against Bridget's side. At mention of his name, he looks up and tilts his head a little.

Bridget has the grace to look both ashamed and embarrassed. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't realize."

"Realize what?" Beth asks in confusion. "There's no way you could have known all that he's done."

"Not that," Bridget shakes her head a little and clarifies, "I mean I didn't realize that he was your man."

Beth blinks and then flushes, she hadn't realized she was defending him so stridently that she'd give that impression. "No, it's not like that. Anyway, no one lays claim to Daryl Dixon but Daryl Dixon," she says with a soft laugh.

The other woman seems nonplussed, but doesn't say anything.

The subject of their conversation clears his throat in the doorway. Daryl's cheeks are dark red, evidence that he definitely overheard some of Beth's conversation with Bridget. "Found some stuff, ain't too sure if it'll fit worth a damn," he mumbles, carrying an armful of clothing over to drop on the floor at their sides, and somehow managing to keep his gaze averted from Beth, Bridget and Quint in the process. "Lemme know when ya get dressed an' I'll have a look at 'em cuffs." He leaves the room again, but this time stands just outside the door.

After they sort through the clothing, Bridget and Quint get dressed to the best of their abilities. A woman who lived in the house before the end was about Bridget's size, but Quint's clothing hangs off of his body. It's better than nothing though, and Daryl had the foresight to provide a belt for the boy's baggy blue jeans. They can't really get the shirts on more than halfway with the handcuffs on their wrists. Just the act of putting clothes on seems to give both woman and child more confidence, and make them seem less like victims.

"Ok, Daryl, you can come on in," Beth calls.

He returns, his crossbow slung over his shoulder and his hands busy working part of a metal coat hanger. Moving to stand beside Beth, he puts a final bend in the stiff wire and says, "That oughta do it." Then he looks at Bridget from behind his shaggy hair and waits.

Bridget doesn't even try to hide her surprise at his restraint before holding out her arm. Her hand is trembling, though it's not clear if it is from nerves or the weight of the chain, and Beth takes it between her own for added support. Daryl inserts the makeshift lock pick, wiggles it around a couple of times and there is a distinct click. The cuff opens and falls to the floor with a heavy clatter of sound. Bridget shudders, her fingers gripping Beth's so tight it hurts, but she doesn't complain. "Thank you," the woman whispers, tears streaming down her face.

Daryl doesn't say anything, just ducks his chin a little.

Quint edges in beside Bridget without being told to and holds his manacled arm out. He's still got the knife clutched in his other hand and he's wary without being hostile. When Daryl makes quick work of that lock at well, the boy offers the pilfered weapon to him and apologizes in a low voice, "I'm sorry. I thought you was one of them."

"Ain't no need in apologizin' for tryin' to protect someone ya care 'bout," Daryl gruffly tells him, but doesn't take the blade. "It ain't my knife anyway."

The boy almost smiles at that, and then offers it to Beth instead, who slides it back into its sheath.

Gesturing at him with his chin, Daryl tells Quint, "Ya want one of yer own, we got plenty to choose from back at th' manor." He turns to lead them out of the room, dropping his shoulder and reequipping his crossbow. Beth waves her hand, indicating to the others that they should follow him, and she'll bring up the rear.

Bridget and the boy move slow, their speed hampered by pain from the beatings and abuse they received while kept prisoner. When they reach the top of the stairs, Quint stops dead and whispers, "Wait! Did you check to see if the monster was still in here?"

Daryl looks at Beth, who shrugs. She has no idea what he's talking about. "What monster?" she asks.

Bridget rests her hands on the child's thin shoulders, looking a little worried herself. "Earlier today, there was something in the house. Not a zombie, but something else, some kind of animal or something, we could hear it in our room and it was making this weird noise. Whatever it was, it was big and it had those..." she swallows and continues, "it had those men completely terrified, and they were firing their weapons nonstop. I think it killed them."

Nodding, Quint explains, "It came up the stairs, and it came right to the door and sniffed at it, sniffed right under the door. We could hear it and see the shadow under the door. Then it just left." Peering up at Daryl, he observes, "That was right before you came up here, you know, the first time."

Daryl's staring at her as though he's waiting to hear her explanation, so Beth says, "Yeah, we know about that. It was a bear, and he's gone now."

"A bear?" Bridget repeats, shocked. "Are you sure? Why would a bear come in here and attack them?"

"Cause they pissed him off," Daryl growls irritably, pulling at the bandage on his arm to tighten it.

Giving him a dubious look, Quint says, "Didn't sound like no bear I ever heard of. Don't they growl or something, like big dogs?"

"It does make a weird sound. I thought they growled and roared too," Beth admits.

"That's grizzlies and brown bears, not black bears. Jeez, didn't any of you people watch Discovery Channel before things went to hell in a handbasket? Anyway, he ain't around right now, so let's get a move on and get the hell outta this shithole," Daryl says, and walks downstairs, ending that discussion.

The emotional toll of the small part she played in the rescue doesn't hit her until late that night when she's laying in her sleeping bag. Keys had been left in the Suburban out front, so Daryl drove them all back to the manor where Quint and Bridget were welcomed by everyone in the group and given their first hot meal in days. She lets him explain to Rick what happened while she gets the two new additions settled into Daryl's old room.

The woman and boy may have been freed from their captivity, but the damage dealt to them was more than just physical. Quint tries to act like any normal 10 year old boy, offering to share his comic collection with Carl within a few minutes of meeting the older boy, but he flinches every time any man in their group comes near. He is especially intimidated by Abraham's boisterous manner and voice, and even gentle Tyreese's presence gets him wild-eyed and shaking. Bridget is able to hide her emotions a little better, but when she emerges from her bath, her fair skin has been scrubbed with such vigor that it is rubbed raw from her efforts to wash the very memory of her attackers' touch off of her flesh.

The Manor House is well built, but not even its sturdy walls are enough to Beth from hearing the quiet sobs coming from the room next to hers. Unable to listen for a moment longer, she gets up, heading downstairs and outside for some fresh air. The moon is waxing full and it's cold enough outside that she can see her breath. She can just pick out Rick's shadowy form at the end of the driveway by the front gate courtesy of the moonlight.

"Everything all right?" Michonne asks, scaring her half to death. She didn't even hear her coming around the side of the house. It's uncanny how quiet the woman can be when she puts her mind to it.

Her heart is racing when Beth responds, "Yes. Just having trouble sleeping is all." She pulls her sweater tighter around her body and can't help thinking that a few hours earlier, the same garment was used to comfort two abuse victims, or at least she hopes it brought them some small measure of relief.

Michonne nods and moves to stand beside her on the porch. "Days like today tend to stick with you," she comments with the voice of experience.

"Yeah, they do," she sighs.

"You want to talk about it?"

The offer is about as surprising as the source. She and Michonne are friends, of course, but not particularly close confidants. Beth's never been told the full details of what happened when the Claimers and an unwitting Daryl came across Rick, Michonne, and Carl, but she's heard enough to know that Michonne and Carl very nearly ended up in the same situation that Bridget and Quint were found. After a moment, she shakes her head, "No, thanks though. I just need to clear my head a little."

Michonne gives her a knowing look and says, "If you change your mind, I'm a good listener. Just remember, it don't do any good to focus on what might have happened. Be thankful for the here and now, for however long it lasts." She steps off the porch and walks toward Rick with long, graceful strides.

Beth watches her go, shivering in the cold air. The wind kicks up and her teeth start chattering. She doesn't really want to go inside just yet, but she doesn't want to stay where she is, either. The Suburban is parked in front of the carriage house and she heads over to it, opening the rear door and slipping into the back seat. The air is chilly inside the vehicle, but she's out of the wind and that's good enough for her. Resting her head against the seat back, she tries not to think.

The door opposite her opens without warning and Daryl peers in at her.

She had figured him to be in bed like everyone else, but supposes that the sound of the car door shutting might have been enough to rouse him since it's parked right outside the garage he sleeps above. "Did I wake you? I'm so sorry."

"Wasn't asleep, ain't nuthin' to be sorry for. Everythin' a'ight?"

She musters a small smile, "I'm fine. Just can't sleep, too much on my mind."

He regards her for a couple of seconds and then climbs into the back seat with her, pulling the door shut behind him. His ever-present crossbow takes up a fair amount of room even in the spacious SUV, so he puts it behind him in the cargo area.

They sit in silence for a couple of seconds before Beth asks, "How's your arm?"

Michonne treated the wound earlier while she was showing Bridget and Quint around. His jacket has a damp spot from where he's washed the dried blood off of it, but the bandage she tied on is gone, replaced by a new one that is hidden under his sleeve. "Hurts like a sumbitch."

"Rick said we'll be sure and look for more antibiotics when we go on that run, just in case." She and Rick have agreed to postpone the run until the day after tomorrow, so Beth will be around to help get their two new additions settled in a bit more.

"I'm a fast healer, ain't no need to waste 'em on me."

Unsurprised by his stubbornness, she reminds him, "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

He scoffs but doesn't say anything. They sit in silence and he fidgets, first drumming his fingers on his knee and then propping his elbow on door's armrest so he can gnaw the skin on his thumb.

Beth leans her head back again, closes her eyes and the events of the day play out in her mind's eye for what seems like the thousandth time. She swallows and says very quietly, "That could have been me, if that bear hadn't come along when it did."

Daryl stiffens beside her. "But he did, an' nothin' happened to ya."

"That man... he would have dragged me down out of that tree and..." her voice cracks and she can't go on.

"Stop," he orders, his voice rough with emotion.

Tears start streaming down her face, leaving icy trails on her cheeks from the chill in the air and she can't even look at him because she feels so ashamed. "You know what the worst part of it is? When we were at that farmhouse, and we opened the door and I saw them, naked and chained like dogs, I was just glad that it wasn't me, because it could have been. That could have been me in there. Like, it was better them, than me. What kind of person does that make me, when I'm relieved when horrible things happen to other people, just because it's not me?" she demands before dissolving into choked sobs. Without even having a clear memory of moving toward him, she finds herself soaking his shirt front with her crying.

Caught off guard by the sudden embrace, he holds himself stiff and after a slight hesitation, his arms ease up and around her. His breath caresses her hair when he says, "Ya ain't done nothin' wrong, ya just human, is all. Just 'cause ya glad that somethin' bad didn't happen to ya, that ain't the same as ya wishin' it'd happen to someone else, or bein' glad that it did. I know ya, ain't no way you'd wish that kind of shit on anyone, least of all a kid. That ain't you."

That coiled knot of guilt that's been building in her belly all day unwinds at his words. She exhales a long, shuddering breath in an attempt to control of her emotions. His body is warm and solid, and the scent of smoke from the fire he set earlier lays over that woodsy smell that is uniquely his. She's blubbered all over him long enough though and sits up, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Sorry, didn't mean to fall apart like that."

Daryl gives her a small nod and pulls his arms away, much to her regret. "It's a'ight, been a hell of a day."

Instead of moving back to the other side of the SUV, she sighs and leans back against the seat while settling her arm and thigh alongside his, so his body heat still warms her. Tilting her head just a little to rest it against his shoulder, she whispers, "I just wish it hadn't happened to them, that they'd gotten lucky like I did. I wish that bear had come along in time to help them too. Maybe they wouldn't have lost their friends then."

Daryl shifts against her and returns to biting the edge of his thumb. A brief pause later, he tells her, "Ya know, that ol' Injun man, he told me the bear is kinda like my, uh…"

Since he seems to be at a loss for words, she suggests, "Spirit animal? Like a totem?"

"Somethin' like that, yeah," he mumbles, darting a quick look at her.

"So what does that mean, though? You think the bear we saw has something to do with all that?" she inquires with no small amount of skepticism.

His shoulder jostles her head when he shrugs, "Don't think it, I know it does."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Ya ever hear of a bear—or any animal, for that matter—attackin' so many people in one day? Those fuckers deserved what they got, cause of what they done to that woman and kid, and cause 'a what they was gonna do to you. I wanted 'em dead and the bear killed 'em. Hell, Rick said he'd have lined 'em up and shot 'em given half the chance, and ya don't even wanna know what Michonne woulda done to 'em."

Beth has a pretty good idea of exactly what the fierce woman would have done to them, and then she'd have gone ahead and killed them afterwards. But he's right, she's never heard of any animal attack like this one before. "So the bear symbolizes, what, vengeance?"

Daryl shakes his head, "Naw, not vengeance, but protectin' them that need it. Courage an' inner strength too."

Smiling at that, she turns her head enough to peer up at him and observes, "Ok, now those definitely sound like characteristics you have a full measure of."

It's dark in the car, so she can sense but not see that the compliment has embarrassed him, gauging from how he ducks his chin and turns his head aside.

Her face still feels cold from the drying tear tracks on it, so she rubs her cheeks, trying to warm them up. Sitting up, she asks, "Is your shirt still wet?" and reaches out to touch the fabric.

He flinches ever so slightly and Beth freezes, her gaze flying up to meet his eyes in the darkness. She's always known him to be hesitant when it came to physical contact, but for the first time she sees how similar his reaction is to what Quint has been doing. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I never noticed... I'll be more careful from here on out," she murmurs, sliding away from him on the bench seat and crossing her arms across her chest. The air in the vehicle feels colder all of the sudden to the point that she is shivering, and only part of it is because of the weather.

"Noticed what?" he responds with confusion.

The more she thinks about it, the more appalled she is. She's always been someone who thrives on physical contact with people she cares about. Even when it is as simple as leaning against someone, like she was doing earlier to him, there is something both comforting and reassuring in it. It never occurred to her that Daryl might find that habit of hers unpleasant, or even offensive, until just now when she made the connection between his and Quint's behavior. "God, I'm so stupid, I can't believe I didn't realize it. You should have told me a long time ago that you didn't like to be touched. I won't do it again," she promises and is on the verge of crying again.

Daryl seems taken aback by her words and assures her, "It ain't that I don't like it. It's just..." He falls silent, worrying the inside of his cheek for a few seconds before muttering, "Just ain't used to it, is all."

She gives him a dubious look because it's hard for her to comprehend someone not being used to being touched. "Really?"

"Do me and Merle seem like we mighta come from a family of huggers an' touchy-feely types?"

He's told her very little about his past but it is enough for her to have serious doubts about the amount of love and laughter in his home. Studying his face for a moment, she nods and slowly eases her way back to prop herself up against his side again, and his warmth starts to seep into her almost immediately. She tries to imagine what it must have been like to be raised in a household that was basically the opposite of her own in terms of affection and stability, and can't quite wrap her mind around the concept. It seems like something like that would have long lasting effects on a person's interactions and ability to form relationships with others. Before she's really thought it out, she blurts, "That must have made things weird with any girlfriends you've had."

He resumes drumming his fingers on his knee and awkwardly admits, "Wouldn't know, never had one."

Craning her neck, she peers up at him with sheer disbelief. "Seriously? You've never had a girlfriend?" It doesn't even seem possible. Hell, she's only eighteen and she's had four boyfriends. She's not sure how old Daryl is, but he's got to be in his mid to late thirties at least, how would someone live that long and not have a single relationship with another person. Oh. Maybe? "Boyfriend then?"

"I ain't a queer," he grumbles, "there just ain't too many women interested in goin' out with redneck assholes, is all." He is embarrassed by his confession, but matter of fact as well. Once again, it is what it is.

"Hmm." Beth mulls that over. "What about Merle? He have any girlfriends?"

Daryl grunts, "Shit, he had loads of 'em, more 'n one at a time on occasion. But Merle was a talker. Hell, he could sell wood to a forest."

She isn't surprised. Merle Dixon could be a real bastard, but at the same time, she is willing to bet that there were times when he could pour on the charm in a way that many women would find appealing. Daryl, on the other hand, well, he probably wouldn't know how to be charming if his life depended on it. He's honest and completely lacking pretense, but he can also be suspicious, abrasive, and shy. It's a strange combination of things to see in one man.

A yawn escapes her and all of the sudden it's like the whole days worth of exhaustion catches up to her with a vengeance to the point where she can barely keep her eyes open. Nestling her cheek against his shoulder, Beth thinks about all the girls she knew from high school who had dated their 'dream catch' only to find out they were jerks, and can't help but snicker. "Hey. You know the difference between nice guys and assholes?"

"Whassat?"

Beth giggles, "Nice guys are assholes later on." He snorts with amusement and while it's not quite a laugh, it's close enough that she's feeling pretty pleased with herself. Impulsively, she reaches for his hand and entwines his fingers with her own while scooting a bit closer. He glances down at her with eyebrows raised in surprise and she gives him an impish grin, telling him, "Gotta get you used to it somehow. I figure you need the practice."

He doesn't say anything but shifts his eyes away from her and returns to chewing his cheek again.

It may be cold in the SUV, but the atmosphere is comfortable and relaxing, and she can feel sleep pulling at her with increasing insistence. _It's a wonder he's got any skin left on the inside of his mouth,_ is her last coherent thought before she falls asleep.

* * *

A/N Part Deux: Nifty thing-last night my husband, daughter (13 yrs) and sister in law went and saw Emily Kinney perform at an Atlanta Nightclub called Eddie's Attic. She has such an amazing voice, it doesn't really come out in the tv series but man she can belt it out at times! And she was so funny, just a really sweet and great entertainer overall. Chad Coleman, Scott Gimple, and Greg Nicotero were there, I think saw Robert Kirkman too. Anyway it was pretty cool, we got our pictures taken with Emily after the show, she stayed late and fans lined up to chat with her and get pictures. I wish I'd gotten pictures of them all but I didn't want to bother the other cast/crew that were there, as they were sitting outside at a table socializing, and didn't want to interrupt them and be rude, you know? If you ever get a chance to see her sing, she's a true performer and I think you'll really enjoy it. I'd heard a couple of her songs, but it doesn't compare to the live performance. She's on Twitter and posts stuff about her shows there. In fact, she said she'll be back to Eddie's Attic in October if you're in the Atlanta area!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Well, I'm back from DragonCon 2014 and have been writing off and on ever since. This chapter actually took a different turn than I had originally intended, and the end of it is pure fluff, hopefully you readers don't mind. Thanks to PatienceTyme as usual for all the input and beta reading help!

* * *

Beth wakes up a little bit at a time. She is aware of feeling warm and cozy, but is still vaguely aware that the air around her is quite cold. Her bed is far more comfortable than she remembered it being. It's also breathing. Daryl. His hand rubs across her back in a soothing caress.

At some point after falling asleep, she shifted from holding his hand while leaning against his shoulder to curling against his side, instinctively seeking the heat his body gives off in the cold vehicle. She should be embarrassed by the way she is draped across his body but she's too comfortable to care, and quite content to stay that way.

Something must alert him to the fact that she's awake because he freezes, his hand stopping that gentle stroke on her back. He doesn't even breathe at first and when he resumes, the inhales and exhales are so careful and methodical that she suspects he is actually thinking about it.

A sleepy yawn escapes her and without opening her eyes, she murmurs, "If I'd known you made such a good pillow, I'd have made use of you instead of my arm back when we were on the run from the prison."

His breath stutters but he doesn't say anything.

Opening her eyes, Beth can see that it's almost dawn gauging from the amount of light filtering into the vehicle. She can't remember the last time she slept so well. She didn't even have bad dreams, and that's a huge surprise given the events of the previous day. She sits up and immediately groans in pain. Her entire body feels like one enormous bruise.

Daryl pulls his arms back and moves away from her as soon as she changes positions, but when he hears the sound she makes, he asks, "Ya ok?" From the worried tone of his voice, she suspects he thinks he's done something wrong.

"Yeah, but I definitely feel like I fell out of a tree," she winces, rubbing her lower back. She can't believe she could even sleep with her body aching this bad, especially her tailbone. It must have taken the brunt of her weight when she hit the ground.

"It's a miracle ya didn't break yer neck," he growls, his expression wavering between anger and concern.

The memory of Stan being slung out of the tree by the bear plays in her mind's eye like a horror movie in slow motion, and she can almost hear that sickening crack his back made when he hit that limb. She tries to dispel that disturbing imagery, and grabs her turquoise pendant between fingers and thumb, waving it at him. "I figure I had some extra protection or something," she tells him with a grin.

He just looks at her without saying anything but his face seems to soften ever so slightly. It seems like his gaze lingers on her left cheek for a little longer than usual.

Fully aware that she's never at her best upon waking, she worriedly asks, "What, do I have some drool on my face or something?" and wipes at her face with her shirt sleeve.

The barest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth but he just shakes his head.

When Beth runs her fingers over her skin, she realizes what he's looking at—a textured impression on her face that's probably a perfect match for the creases and seams of his shirt front pocket. Beth rolls her eyes and gives him the most exasperated look she can manage, given the fact that the sun hasn't even risen yet. "I hope I drooled over you," she grumps good naturedly before stretching and arching her back with a low moan. She hurts like hell and probably will for a few days.

His eyes skim over her body, his cheeks reddening, and then he turns and looks out the window. A few seconds later he reaches over the seat to grab his crossbow. That's the only warning she has before he opens the door and steps out of the SUV.

Any lingering traces of sleep vanish when that blast of cold morning air hits her and she scrambles out of the vehicle behind him, shutting the door. Sometime while she was sleeping, the night watch swapped out because she can see Abraham by the front gate, which means either Tara or Rosita is probably on perimeter duty.

Daryl stands a few feet away with his back to her, fiddling with his crossbow.

Crossing her arms in a vain attempt to stay warm, she looks at the mansion and asks, "You think anyone else is up yet?"

He makes that sound that is a rough equivalent of "I dunno" without looking at her. His shoulders seem strangely tense.

"You okay?" she asks, because it seems like he's acting weird all of the sudden.

"Mmhmm," he responds in a gruff voice. "See ya at breakfast," he adds with typical Daryl abruptness and starts to walk off. It seems like there's the slightest hitch in his step, like his leg is asleep or something. Given how long he managed to sit the same approximate position in the car with her propped up against him, it's a definite possibility.

It does remind her that he really does have an injury that needs tending to, though, so she calls after him, "When you come in for breakfast, I'll help you change that bandage." She's not surprised when he doesn't respond. Tossing her head, she goes inside the house. It's warmer, but not by much. The house does still have working heat sources courtesy of the propane fireplaces in some of the bedrooms, but it doesn't really spread downstairs very well when everyone sleeps with their doors closed to maintain what little semblance of privacy they can manage.

Beth heads into the kitchen and starts boiling water for breakfast and coffee. Bridget puts in an appearance right about the time that the water finishes dribbling through the manual drip coffee maker, which means she has perfect timing. After pouring a cup of coffee, she offers it to the red-headed woman with a smile. "Good morning. There's powdered creamer and sweetener in the cupboard to the right of the sink. We try to save the sugar for cooking, so use the artificial sweetener instead."

Bridget wraps her fingers around the mug and holds it under her nose, inhaling the fragrant aroma. "I like mine black, thanks." Taking a sip of coffee, she looks around the large kitchen and offers, "Can I help you make breakfast?" Her facial wounds have been cleaned up, but she still looks pretty horrible, and if last night was anything to go from, she probably didn't sleep a wink all night.

Though she wants to tell her no, Beth is aware that keeping her busy might help keep her mind off of more unpleasant memories. "Well, breakfasts tend to be a free for all, we don't do a lot of cooking until lunch and dinner, and you're welcome to help out then. That gives us time to check the snares, and if Daryl is out hunting, he tries to make it back in time to prepare the meat for cooking that evening, since we don't have a good way to keep or store meat right now. Winter will actually help with that though, to an extent. Anyway, we've got pop tarts, granola bars, oatmeal, cream of wheat, grits and that kind of thing for breakfast. Help yourself to whatever you want, most of it's in the pantry over there."

Making her way over to the door Beth has pointed out, Bridget peruses what's available and sighs, "Man, what I wouldn't give for a ham, egg, onion and cheese omelet," selecting a package of pop tarts.

Beth grins at that, because it does sound good. "All last winter and most of summer, we were at a prison..."

The red-headed woman looks back over her shoulder in surprise, interrupting, "A prison? Yikes."

Laughing, Beth says, "I know, it sounds horrible, right? But really wasn't that bad once we got all the walkers cleared out. We had high fences and walls to keep us safe, plenty of room. Had a little garden with a pig pen and a chicken coop. It was nice." And it had been. It wasn't the farm she grew up on, but it was still a home, bars, cell doors and all.

"That does sound pretty good," Bridget allows, setting her breakfast down on the counter before reclaiming her cup. "What happened?"

"The Governor, that's what happened," Daryl interjects as he walks into the kitchen.

Bridget yelps and fumbles not to drop her mug, slopping some hot coffee onto the floor.

After giving Daryl a reproachful look, Beth gets a hand towel out and squats down to wipe up the mess.

"Didn't mean ta scare ya," he mutters. His blue eyes shift from Beth to Bridget, taking note of the other woman's fidgeting. "I can come back later..."

"No, it's ok!" Bridget hastily reassures him, giving him a tentative smile. "You just, ah, surprised me is all. So, who or what is the Governor?" she asks, lifting her mug up to take a sip with forced casualness.

Beth and Daryl look at each other and neither one seems to quite know how to answer that question. In the brief silence that ensues, Beth busies herself with pouring another cup of coffee, and finally says, "He was the leader of a town near the prison called Woodbury, had them all thinking he was a good man, a good leader, but really, he was a liar and a murderer," while spooning some sweetener into the mug before pushing it across the center island in the kitchen toward Daryl.

"He was a goddamn sumbitch, bat-shit crazy to boot," he grunts, walking over to take the coffee.

Nodding at that assessment, Beth adds, "He kidnapped Glenn and my sister Maggie and tortured them. Daryl, Rick and Michonne were able to rescue them, but it just about started an all out war between our groups. People died. Daryl's brother, Merle was one of them. My daddy, too.." Her voice trails off and she has to swallow down the sudden lump of grief that's appeared in her throat. Without even realizing she's doing it, she wraps her fingers around the turquoise pendant and draws in a deep ragged breath.

Bridget listens, wide-eyed. "But you were at the prison, right? Walls and fences? Didn't it have guard towers?"

Daryl growls, "Chain link fences and towers ain't worth a shit against a fuckin' tank."

The other woman's slack-jawed expression would be amusing under different circumstances. Beth shakes her head and sighs, "Anyway. Our whole group got split up in the craziness after that, and it took a while, but somehow, we managed to find each other again, didn't we?" She flashes a quick smile across the counter at Daryl.

He looks back at her and nods once before dropping his eyes down to watch the dark liquid swirl around in his mug.

"Wow, a somber group in here today, are we already out of coffee?" Carol asks through a yawn as she enters the room.

Not willing to dredge through sad memories for a moment longer, Beth replies, "Nope, got plenty of coffee still so we're good. Bridget was just saying how much she missed ham, egg and cheese omelets."

Carol chuckles, "You know, as bad as it sounds, I could really go for an egg McMuffin. I can't believe I miss McDonald's."

"Oh man, yeah, most of their food was horrible but those fries... I miss French fries," Bridget admits. "I can't believe how much I miss French fries."

Beth sighs, leaning over to rest her elbow on the counter. "Forget fast food. I miss Oreo cookies. What I wouldn't give for an Oreo cookie dunked in an ice cold glass of milk."

Clearing his throat, Daryl drinks a couple of swallows of his coffee before pushing the mug back at Beth. "Ya can have the rest. I'm goin' huntin', should be back 'fore supper."

"Wait, you haven't even eaten yet," Beth protests, "and I still need to change your bandage."

"I'll go get the bandages," Carol announces and leaves the room.

Daryl seems to be debating on ignoring her and going off anyway, so Beth grabs his good hand before he has a chance and drags him over to the table. "Take off your jacket," she orders. "And you may as well eat while we're waiting. Bridget, will you get him a granola bar out of the pantry, a peanut butter one, if we have any left, that is."

Both uncomfortable and annoyed at being fussed over, Daryl yanks his hand free long enough to take off his crossbow, angel wing vest and jacket before sitting down in the chair and holding his arm out for her. They're past the point of using medical gauze and have now resorted to boiling linens for bandages, tying the ends or using safety pins to hold them in place. Michonne pinned Daryl's the night before, and it takes Beth a moment to work them free and unwrap the cloth. She hisses when she gets a good look at the stab wound. The gash has been closed with small, neat stitches but the skin around it is red and swollen.

"It's getting infected," Bridget observes after coming over to see as well, and sets down Daryl's coffee mug and a breakfast bar within his reach.

Sighing because she's just verified her suspicions, Beth agrees, "Yes it is."

"It ain't that bad. Be good as new in a couple of days," Daryl mutters.

"More like a couple of weeks. I'll put some ointment on it, but you need to start taking some antibiotics, or it'll get worse," she warns him, holding his gaze with her own and hoping he can see how worried she is. Even minor scratches have the potential to be deadly now, and this is far beyond just a scratch.

He doesn't say anything, just regards her with an unreadable expression.

Carol returns with the zip lock bag that they keep the medicine in, and a few strips of cloth. "Oh, that looks like it's getting infected," she comments as she puts the supplies down on the table.

A muscle twitches in Daryl's jaw and irritation radiates off of him in waves. Picking up the granola bar, Beth uses her teeth to tear the wrapper and pull it back before handing it to him, "Here, eat this while I wrap your arm."

He levels a glare at her that indicates he knows full well she's trying to distract him, and takes a bite from the bar with such force, she almost winces in sympathy. The notion of feeling sorry for a granola bar causes a smile to appear on her face and she ducks her head to hide it. Holding his arm still with one hand, she dabs a gob of the triple antibiotic ointment to her index finger of the other and smears it over the swelling, stitched skin.

Despite her attempts, her amusement does not go unnoticed by her sullen patient. "What's so damn funny?" he demands. When she just shrugs in return, he scowls at Bridget and Carol who are watching her tend to him, and snarls, "Ain't ya'll got somethin' better ta be doin' other than gawkin' at me?"

Carol is used to his mood swings and rolls her eyes before walking to the coffee pot, but Bridget visibly recoils, her hands trembling so bad that it's a wonder she doesn't splash her drink all over the place.

Beth digs her fingernails into his arm where she's holding it, chastising him with a frown, "Daryl, be nice."

He has the grace to be ashamed and squirms in his chair before mumbling, "Sorry. Just don't like bein' fussed over, is all."

Bridget bites her lip and nods, giving him a hesitant smile. "I'm grumpy before I've finished my first cup of coffee in the morning too." She nudges his coffee mug a little closer in a non too subtle hint and says, "I better go check on Quint. There's no telling how he will react if he wakes up and I'm not there. Come get me if you need help with anything, Beth, and good luck with your hunting."

"I will," Beth promises, watching the red-haired woman carry her coffee and pop tarts out of the room before giving Daryl a stern look. "You scared her," she accuses before sorting through the strips of cloth.

"Said I was sorry," he reminds her around a mouthful of granola, his head hanging lower than usual.

Carol watches them over her coffee mug, her eyebrows raised.

Beth selects two of the bandages, one of which she folds into a small square and places on top of his wound. "Lift your arm up?" He complies, and she wraps the longer bandage around his forearm a few times before pinning it in place with the safety pins, being careful not to jab him by accident. "There, all done. That wasn't so bad, was it? You didn't fuss this much when Michonne was stitching and bandaging you up, did you?"

Chuckling, Carol comments, "She keeps the katana so close, he's probably afraid that if he protests too much she'll just cut it off and be done with it."

Daryl snorts at that, cramming the rest of the granola bar into his mouth before standing up and grabbing his jacket.

"Wait, don't forget the antibiotic." Beth sorts through the medicine bag before pulling out the appropriate bottle and giving it an experimental wiggle. There's only a couple of pills rattling around in it, but she pours one into her palm and offers it to him.

Ignoring her out stretched hand, Daryl puts his jacket and vest on in order, then slings his crossbow over his shoulder. Finally he glances from her hand up to her face. "We runnin' pretty low on those, maybe we should save 'em for someone who really needs 'em."

"I am giving it to someone who really needs it," she insists and takes his hand, putting the capsule in the center of his palm.

"Rick and Beth can look for more tomorrow when they go on their run," Carol reminds him. "You need it now."

"I'm tellin' ya, yer wastin' it on me, I'll be fine," Daryl protests, but to her relief he takes the pill and swallows it down with a couple of gulps of coffee. "There, ya happy now?"

"Yep!" Beth beams up at him. "Good hunting. If you're taking requests, I could go for some venison, the turkey's bout gone and rabbit and squirrel is getting old."

"Maybe there's a good fishing hole around here," Carol muses, blowing across the surface of her coffee to cool it. "Fish would be a nice change. We're what, thirty miles from the Chattahoochee River?"

"Want me to grab ya an Egg McMuffin while I'm out?" he asks with dry humor.

"Oh, great idea! And don't forget my oreos!" Beth reminds him with a grin, and both she and Carol laugh.

Daryl just shakes his head at them, draining the last of his coffee before he heads off without saying goodbye.

The two women settle into cleaning up after he's gone with easy camaraderie, and afterwards, they both focus on getting their breakfast. Beth has just finished adding hot water to her instant apple cinnamon oatmeal and reclaiming her seat at the table when she realizes that Carol is studying her with far more interest than normal. "What?" she asks the older woman while stirring her breakfast.

Carol shrugs and admits with a smile, "I've been wondering for a while what happened after you two got away from the prison together, and now I'm more curious than ever."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I've known Daryl Dixon longer than almost anyone else in the group, including Rick and Glenn. He doesn't apologize easy, and I've never seen anyone pressure him into doing anything. I just watched both happen in a matter of minutes." Her coutenance seems to indicate that if she hadn't seen it, she would never have believed it. Grabbing a breakfast bar for herself, she sits across the table from Beth and notes, "He's changed. So have you, for that matter."

"Well, he probably would have apologized even if I hadn't gotten onto him," Beth says, scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal.

"Maybe," Carol doesn't seem so sure.

"Anyway, I think we've all changed in one way or another, not just cause of the prison falling, but everything," she points out. "We wouldn't be alive otherwise, either of us, I think."

They both focus on eating for a couple of minutes, and Carol softly says, "I'm sorry about your father."

Beth freezes, the last spoon of oatmeal stopping in midair inches in front of her half open mouth.

"Hershel was one of the wisest, kindest men I've ever had the privilege of knowing, and believe me, I know firsthand how meaningless and inadequate the words 'I'm sorry' can be when it comes to losing someone that means so much to you, but..." Carol's voice trails off and she wipes tears away from her eyes with quick swipes of a hand.

The food she's eaten now feels as heavy as a rock in her stomach. Beth forces herself to eat the last bite—they don't have extra food to waste, regardless of the circumstances—and drops the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter before pushing it away. Wrapping her fingers around her mug, she stares down at the coffee and says, "He blamed himself for what happened to Daddy. Daryl did, that is."

Carol stares at her but does not look surprised by that revelation.

"When that tank came through the fence along with the rest of the Governor's people, it just got crazy. I was looking for Judith so we could get on the bus, Maggie was looking for Glenn, Rick had been shot for sure, no one knew what had happened to Michonne... well, you saw it all, you know how it went," Beth murmurs.

Ducking her head, Carol informs her, "No, I wasn't there when the prison got attacked. I'd gone on a run with Rick that morning, remember?" Her mouth twists and her tone is bitter when she goes on, "We split up as well. He came back to the prison, and I... I didn't."

"Oh." She doesn't know the full story of what happened between Rick and Carol on that run, only knows that there's been some very heated conversations involving them since the group reformed, with Daryl and Tyreese playing mediator between the two. Even though she hadn't seen her during the attack, she'd just assumed Carol was there when it happened, because where else would she be? There's been a lingering sadness in the other woman's eyes though, something that makes her look older and more emotionally worn down than she remembers her being before the prison fell. Both Myka and Lizzie are gone, and Beth supposes that for Carol, losing them must have been like losing her daughter Sophie all over again.

Beth pushes down her curiosity, figuring if they want her to know the whole story, they'll tell her and everyone else, because Maggie and Glenn have no idea what's going on either. "Well, I couldn't find Judith or Maggie, the Governor's people were dead or running, the bus had already left and there were walkers everywhere. Daryl came across me and said we had to go, and so we did."

"I can't believe we never had the foresight to come up with a rendezvous point in the event we got split up. We were complacent at the prison. It made us sloppy," Carol sighs, rubbing her forehead. "We should have known better after the first time the Governor attacked, that it wasn't as safe as we thought."

"He had a tank," she retorts. "We'd probably have been fine if he hadn't had a damn tank."

The other woman almost smiles at that and takes a sip of her coffee. "Well, I can definitely tell Daryl rubbed off on you while you were together, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you cuss."

Flushing a little, Beth somberly tells her, "We'd tried to find the others but just found the bodies of some of the people we knew had been on the bus and..." She swallows and lowers her head, remembering her grief upon seeing Luke's bloody shoe beside a pile of bodies. "He hardly said a word for days after the prison fell."

"Well, this is Daryl we're talking about. He's not exactly a chatterbox even under the best of circumstances."

"No, this was different. Even when we weren't running from walkers, he'd just sit there and..." Thinking about all those nights he had just sat there in front of the fire, staring at nothing with his shoulders hunched and his entire demeanor one of utter despair, she insists, "It was like he had completely shut down. It wasn't normal behavior, not even from Daryl."

"But you helped him snap out of it?" At her nod, Carol asks, "How'd you manage to do that?"

A nervous laugh escapes her and she blushes. "We found a moonshine shack and got drunk. I pissed him off. It was over something stupid, but it didn't matter. He yelled, and I yelled back." Biting her lip, she says in a low voice, "He said he shouldn't have stopped looking for the Governor, that if he hadn't given up on looking, maybe Daddy would still be alive. That it was on him, cause he gave up. Which is total bullshit. Then we talked some. After that, he was all right. We both were." Of course, far more was said and done than just what she's told Carol, but the whole experience between her and Daryl at the still was so deeply personal, Beth doesn't want to share any more than she's already has.

Carol seems to sense her reluctance to elaborate further, because she sets her mug down and asks, "And then you two got separated right after that?"

Beth corrects her, "More like a couple of weeks later. He had started teaching me some tracking and hunting by then, and we came across this funeral home. It was clean, had food, you know, like someone had cleaned it up and was living there. But some walkers got in and we split up and I was supposed to meet him at the road when, bam! Hit by a car." A crooked smile curves her lips, "And the rest, as they say, is history."

"Hmm." Carol rests her elbow on the edge of the table and props her chin up with one hand while studying Beth so intently that it's starting to make her uncomfortable.

"What?" she finally says, fighting against the urge to squirm under that probing stare.

Closing her eyes, the older woman lets out a light laugh and ruefully confesses, "You know, there was a time when I would have given anything to have Daryl Dixon look at me the way he looks at you now."

Beth turns bright red and stammers, "What... what are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed," Carol asks with amused skepticism.

She ducks her head, brushing a tendril of hair away from her hot cheeks. "I mean, yeah, I see him looking at me sometimes, but that doesn't mean anything." Does it? While Beth has noticed Daryl's blue eyes resting on her in recent weeks since their reunion, she figured it was because she was paying attention now, not because he was actually looking at her more often.

"When he walks into a room, you are the first person he looks for, and when you're not where he expects you to be, he's on edge until he sees you again."

"Really?" Flabbergasted, Beth hardly knows how to react, and decides Carol is probably reading more into his behavior than she should, as much as she might wish otherwise. "He just got used to looking out for me while we were together, is all. It was just the two of us for a long while, you know, and then we got split up so suddenly... It's probably just habit, him keeping an eye on me."

"Oh Beth," Carol sighs patiently and gives her a knowing look. "You've got to know it's more than that. He hugged you. You know how many people I've seen Daryl hug of his own accord in the time I've known him? One—and I'm sitting across the table from her."

Shaking her head, Beth corrects, "No, that's not right, I've always hugged him, he's never hugged me."

"Yes, he has. When we ran into the others on our way to Terminus, and they had just escaped from there, don't you remember?"

And she does remember, because she never will forget the joy and relief she'd felt on seeing not just Daryl, but Maggie, Glenn, Rick, Carl, and the others, how Maggie had run and thrown her arms around Beth, the joyful tears shed by not just them, but by Rick and Carl when they saw that Judith was still alive, and Tyreese and Sasha as the brother and sister were reunited. While she and Maggie embraced, Daryl hovered a few feet away after awkwardly enduring a hug from Carol, and his blue eyes burned with intensity as he watched the sisters, his expression a strange mixture of relief, anger, guilt and uncertainty. Beth managed to pry herself free from her sister to take a step toward him and yes, she hugged him, but that time, he had hugged her back without hesitation and with enough force that that her ribs creaked in protest, but she hadn't cared. They had finally pulled apart and his sharp gaze took in the knot on her forehead and scrape on her cheek from where she'd hit the pavement after being hit by the car, and his attention turned to the black man standing apart from everyone else.

"You the one in the car?" Daryl had growled before stalking toward him. "You leave those marks on her?"

Father Gabriel Stokes instinctively knew he was treading on dangerous ground, and held up his hands in a placating gesture, answering, "Well, yes but..."

That's all he managed to say before Daryl was on him. It took both Rick and a large red-headed man she'd later learn was Abraham to pull him off, with Beth trying to assure him that it had been an accident.

As Beth sits across from Carol, Daryl's words concerning Father Gabriel from their conversation a week or so ago come to mind. _"Bastard ran ya down in the street, and then took ya from..." _From me. That's what he had stopped himself from saying, she suddenly realizes, and that's why his grudge against Gabriel is so deeply entrenched, because she means that much to him. And it was one thing to be sitting across the table from him when he indicated as best he could that she'd helped change his mind about there being good people, but it's another thing entirely to realize that his feelings for her run deeper than she'd ever expected or dared to let herself hope for. "Oh," is all she can manage, because she can't form words coherent enough to say anything else.

"Yes, 'Oh' indeed," Carol responds with wry amusement.

They sit in silence for a minute or two, each lost in their own thoughts. Beth looks across the table at the other woman and clears her throat before hesitantly asking something she's been wondering about for a long time. "So, you and Daryl never, uh..." Her voice trails off and she blushes, trying to think of the best way to phrase her question.

"Never had sex, never kissed other than platonically, and as I've indicated, never really even hugged each other—not like you've probably imagined anyway," is Carol's simple response, spoken with no small amount of regret.

It's hard to believe, but Beth knows she has no reason to lie. Staring down at the table, she shrugs a little and reveals, "He told me he'd never had a girlfriend, but you two are so close and spent so much time together, I guess I just figured well, you know, that you two didn't have to be his girlfriend to do the, uh, other stuff."

Grinning at her careful choice of wording, Carol arches an eyebrow and suggests, "You're talking about being 'friends with benefits'?"

Beth reddens even more and nods. She can't imagine being so casual about sex that she'd be willing to engage in that particular practice, but it's not like she has a lot of experience to go by.

Shaking her head, Carol sighs, "I'd have been happy if it'd even come to that, but no. He just doesn't think of me that way, he never has. For a while, I was pushing it, letting him know that I was interested in more, but I stopped when I realized that all I was doing was making him embarrassed and uncomfortable. Daryl is a good friend—my best friend, actually. He told you he's never had a girlfriend?" It isn't clear what she finds more surprising, the fact that Daryl's never had a girlfriend, or that he admitted it to Beth.

Bobbing her head in assent, she replies, "That's what he told me. He said it was because weren't a lot of women interested in going out with redneck assholes like him."

Carol snorts at that. "Hrmf. Well, he's dead wrong about that, there's plenty of women who are interested in going out with redneck assholes, believe me." Thoughtfully she cups her chin in her hand, noting, "Daryl has his pride, but he's also got a pretty low self esteem as well. I wouldn't be surprised if he just assumed anyone he was interested in would turn him down, so didn't even bother asking. Anyway, what will you do, now that you know?"

The reasoning behind why Daryl has never had a girlfriend sounds entirely too plausible, sad though it may be. Beth admits, "I don't know," and stares down at her empty bowl. While she's savored how close she and Daryl have become, she hasn't dared to let herself think about the dynamics of their relationship beyond the here and now, much less hope for more. It's starting to sink in though, the awareness that he really may care for her in a way that goes beyond friendship brought about by extended close contact with each other, and she can't stop smiling as a result.

Something shifts in Carol's demeanor, as though an unpleasant thought has occurred to her. The older woman stiffens, sitting upright in her chair to rest both hands flat on the table in front of her. Her face, so gentle and understanding moments before, is now so hard it could be set in stone and her eyes are cold when she asks with sudden suspicion. "This... this isn't some sort of game to you, is it? One of those teenage things where you're deliberately trying to toy with someone's emotions? Because I can assure you, it's not a game to Daryl."

Appalled that it would even cross Carol's mind, Beth gives a furious shake of her head. "No, of course not! I'd never do anything like that, not to anyone but especially not to him," she states with growing anger, leaning forward to make her point. "Never in a million years. This is not a game to me either."

Studying her for any signs of prevarication and finding none, the tension drains from Carol and she exhales, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad, but I just had to be sure."

Beth gets it, she really does, because she remembers girls who did crap like that when she was in high school—God, that seems so long ago—and she never could understand how anyone could take pleasure in toying with people's emotions like that. "It's all right, I understand. You care about him because he's your best friend." And when she says that, it reminds her that the other woman had wanted more from him, and not gotten it. "I'm sorry, too," she feels compelled to say. "I wasn't trying to, you know, get his attention or doing anything to make him look at me like that. I was focused on surviving and doing my best to keep the faith, you know? Trying to remind him that there are still good people in the world."

"The heart chooses who it chooses," Carol shrugs, a rueful smile on her lips. "Good luck, and I really hope things work out for you. He deserves to be happy." Rising to her feet, she collects her breakfast bar wrapper and drops it into the trash before putting her empty cup into the sink.

"We all deserve to be happy, you, me, Daryl, and everyone else we know," Beth returns, giving a firm nod for added emphasis. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Carol turns to look at her for a long moment, and that sorrow that's been clouding her vision for the past few weeks seems to ease just a little bit. "I think I understand it now," is all she says before walking out of the room, leaving Beth in bemused silence.

She spends most of the day caring for Judith and enduring Maggie trying to convince her one last time to wait just a couple more weeks before going on the run, so her arm has time to heal. Eventually, it sinks in that Beth isn't going to change her mind or wait, so her sister spends the remainder of the day giving her tips for staying safe. Some of them are actually even useful.

Daryl had taken the Suburban when he went out hunting, and it ends up being a good thing because he returns that afternoon with a large buck in the back and two milk crates full of food that he's scavenged from who knows where. Also, as it turns out, Carol seems to be right. Beth peeks through the window while bouncing Judith in her arms as he pulls up. He gets out of the vehicle and scans the vicinity as though looking for someone. When she steps outside onto the porch and waves at him with Judith, he relaxes noticeably and if she hadn't been watching him closely, she'd have missed the fleeting expression of relief that flickers across his features. After that, he focuses on answering the usual questions he's asked by Rick and the others upon returning, where's he been, what'd he find, how was the hunting, etc.

The deer is big enough that it gives them a good 75 pounds of meat when he finishes butchering it. They roast some of the venison that night and have one of the heartiest meals they've had since the prison fell. The rest of the meat is set to marinate overnight, so they can smoke and dry it the following day for longer keeping. The colder weather works to their advantage for now. Between it and the basement, they're able to preserve food far more reliably.

Beth wants to be well rested for the next day's run, so she heads upstairs early that night and hopes she doesn't have any trouble sleeping. Her bedroom is really a large storage closet with her bedding spread out on the floor, but she has it all to herself so she's quite satisfied with it. Despite the small living space, it's still larger than her old prison cell, and her bedding is more comfortable than those small lumpy mattresses from the prison bunks. Like everyone else, she sleeps in regular clothes, just not the same clothes she's worn that day. There's too much risk of having to leave in a hurry to bother with pajamas and nightgowns.

She's just finished changing when someone knocks on her door. Rolling her eyes because she's all but certain she knows who it is, Beth walks over and throws open the door, saying, "Maggie, for crying out loud..."

It's Daryl, not Maggie. "Brought ya somethin'," he says with typical abruptness before moving his jacket out of the way to push a bag into her hands.

Fumbling to take it, she looks down at the bag with confusion. "What's this?" Her eyes fly open when she sees what's inside. "Oh my God!"

He fidgets, worriedly asking, "Them are the right ones, ain't they?"

Unable to find her voice as she gapes in disbelief at the distinctive blue and pink package of Doublestuf Oreo cookies, Beth just nods.

Daryl visibly relaxes. "A'ight then. G'night."

It takes her a second to register that he's walking away. "Wait, aren't you going to share them with me?" she asks, and the disappointment she can hear in her voice is almost comical.

He hesitates, uncertain. "Ya sure ya don't wanna keep 'em all to yerself?"

"What? No way, trust me, cookies are always best when shared with a good friend," Beth insists and grabs his hand, pulling him into the room with her and then closing the door behind him.

Daryl's not anywhere near big as Abraham Ford in height or breadth but her small bedroom seems even tinier with him filling the space. She sits down cross legged on her bedding and gestures for him to do the same, setting the cookies in between them. It's pretty dark in the small room so she dares to light another candle and sets it on the shelf before asking, "Where did you find these?"

Doing his best to keep his boots off of her bed, Daryl sits on the floor and leans against the door. At her question, he shrugs a little, "Bagged the buck this mornin', figured since I had the SUV, I might as well go check out a couple places I'd seen while out scoutin' and got lucky. Found some more antibiotics too—Bob said always keep an eye out for stuff that ends in –cin and –cillin, cause that shit is usually good meds."

She strongly suspects he had to check more than 'a couple of places' to find an intact package of Oreos, but nods anyway. Gesturing at his arm, she asks, "Speaking of antibiotics, how's your arm doing? Any better?"

Daryl glances down at his arm and then at her. "Arm's good as new. Don't even hurt no more, see?" He demonstrates by wrapping his left hand around his forearm over where the bandage is, and gives it a squeeze without wincing or showing any signs of being in even minor pain. "Told ya, I'm a fast healer."

Beth is surprised that the antibiotic worked so fast, maybe his arm wasn't as infected as it had seemed to be though. "That's great! You need to keep taking them though, so your body continues to fight off infection."

He just gives her a look and changes the subject, "I told Rick we need ta go back to that peach farm we found Bridget and Quint at, the basement's full up on canned food, not just peaches, but pecans, collards, okra, all kinds 'a shit. Way more than I could grab, hell, it may take a couple 'a trips."

"Well, that's good, it isn't all that far from here so we could go pick it up first thing and still have plenty of time to go check out that neighborhood Rick wants to go to on our run." She opens the package and pulls out four cookies for herself and four more for Daryl. If she eats any more than that, she's liable to make herself sick. Offering the Oreos to him, she teases, "You forgot to bring the milk."

He ignores her outstretched hand and starts to get to his feet, stating, "There's powdered milk downstairs, I can go get some 'a that..."

Touched—and a little alarmed—by his eagerness to please her, Beth hurriedly assures him, "Daryl, I was just kidding, water is fine and I've got some of that already. Please, really, we don't need milk. You've done enough just bringing me the cookies!"

After checking to make sure she really means it, he settles back down onto the floor and accepts the cookies from her.

Making a mental note to be careful about making frivolous requests and wishes around him in the future, Beth digs in her backpack for a water bottle and sets it to the side. Then she begins the time honored ritual of eating Oreos, carefully unscrewing the chocolate cookie part before she licks the cream off with a soft moan of delight. The cookie is beyond stale and honestly, it's nothing short of a miracle that they are still edible but somehow it's managed to retain that unique taste that makes it an Oreo cookie. She glances at Daryl, who's just watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. "What?"

He shakes his head and tosses one of the cookies into his mouth, eating it whole.

She lowers her own half-eaten cookie frowns at him in dismay. "That's not the right way to eat it!"

Squinting at her, Daryl talks around a mouthful of Oreo, "Ain't no right or wrong way to eat it, it's a damn cookie."

"No, you're supposed to twist off the top, lick the cream off, and then dunk the cookie part in milk. Haven't you ever eaten Oreos before?"

"Well we ain't got no milk cause you said we didn't need it," he reminds her and crams another into his mouth.

Beth rolls her eyes, finishes licking the cream off and then eats the cookie part. After washing it down with some water, she passes the bottle to him.

Daryl chews thoughtfully, raising one of the Oreos left in his hand to study it. "Ya know what would make these even better? Peanut butter. Like, ya know, spread a little on the top?"

"You think everything is better with peanut butter," she snorts. "Or jelly."

"That's cause everythin' is."

They finish eating their Oreos in companionable silence, and there's a normalcy to it that is really kind of wonderful. Regretfully, she reseals the package and stares down at it. "I feel a little guilty, because I didn't share them with everyone else," she admits with a smile.

"Ya shared 'em with me. And there's still some left. If ya want, ya can leave 'em on the counter downstairs, I bet folks 'll be on 'em like a pack o' dogs on a three-legged cat."

Beth grins, "Or, I could hide them in my room, and you can keep sneaking up here to eat them with me."

"'Tweren't no sneakin'! I walked my ass right on up here, bold as ya please," he practically boasts.

"With a bag of cookies hidden in your jacket."

He ducks his head with sudden embarrassment and shrugs, mumbling, "Just wanted ta make sure ya got some before anyone else, is all."

"Well, thank you, it was very sweet of you." She can't help smiling at his shy nod of acknowledgement.

"Thanks fer sharin' 'em with me." He peers at her from behind his bangs for a long moment before hesitantly suggesting, "Maybe ya can save a few of 'em, and we can try my peanut butter idea next time. Ain't no tellin' if we'll ever find any more."

Chuckling, she says, "That sounds like a great idea, but if we're adding peanut butter we really may need to mix up some milk."

"A'ight, we can do that." Daryl rolls to his feet in a smooth, quick motion. "I best get goin', let ya get some sleep 'fore yer big day tomorrow."

She wrinkles her nose and stands up as well, "I hope it's the world's most boring run, but I suppose in the end all I can do is hope for the best and plan for the worst."

"It's been workin' fer ya so far, ain't it? Ya'll do fine, I know it," he says confidently, resting his hand on the doorknob.

His simple faith in her has her blushing, and she can't think of anything else to say, other to murmur, "Goodnight. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Damn straight ya will," he tells her and slips out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

A/N A couple of things. First, please no Carol hate in reviews. I ship Bethyl more enthusiastically but really, if a story is well written and plausible, I'll read Daryl in any pairing. In case it isn't clear, no one but Carol, Daryl, Rick and Tyreese know that Carol killed Karen and David, and that that's the reason she was left by Rick. Also, I'm not sure if Carol and Tyreese could bear to tell anyone exactly how Lizzie and Myka came to die. I've decided Beth definitely does not know, I am not sure if the truth will ever come out in the context of this story, so I leave it up to the readers to make up their own minds on it.

Second, while yes, I'm aware that the chances of there being an edible package of Oreos is slim so long after the ZA starts, I really don't care cause dangit it was fun to write this scene. Also, if the TV series writers can write that there's non exploded plastic 2-liters of Diet Soda after 18 months of Georgia weather, then by gum, there have got secret stashes of cookies people are still hoarding. Probably in a basement cupboard, cause it's going to be cooler and dryer than any other part of the house.


End file.
